THE 


STONES 


OF  VENICE. 


VOLUME  THE  EIHST. 

|^0xxixxlati0xx$* 


By  JOHM  RUSKII^, 

AUTHOR  OF  “the  SEVEN  LAMPS  OF  ARCHITECTURE,”  “MODERN  PAINTERS,”  BTC.,  BTll 


•YITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

plcx‘vtil  mt^ 

74  FIFTH  AVENUE 


PEEFACE. 


In  the  course  of  arranging  the  following  essay,  I  put  many 
things  aside  in  my  thoughts  to  be  said  in  the  Preface,  things 
which  I  shall  now  put  aside  altogether,  and  pass  by ;  for  when 
a  book  has  been  advertised  a  year  and  a  half,  it  seems  best  to 
present  it  with  as  little  preface  as  possible. 

Thus  much,  however,  it  is  necessary  for  the  reader  to 
know,  that,  when  I  planned  the  work,  I  had  materials  by  me, 
collected  at  different  times  of  sojourn  in  Yenice  during  the 
last  seventeen  years,  which  it  seemed  to  me  might  be  arranged 
with  little  difficulty,  and  which  I  believe  to  be  of  value  as 
illustrating  the  history  of  Southern  Gothic,  Pequiring, 
however,  some  clearer  assurance  respecting  certain  points  of 
chronology,  I  went  to  Yenice  finally  in  the  autumn  of  1849, 
not  doubting  but  that  the  dates  of  the  principal  edifices  of 
the  ancient  city  were  either  ascertained,  or  ascertainable  mth- 
out  extraordinary  research.  To  my  consternation,  I  found 
that  the  Y enetian  antiquaries  were  not  agreed  within  a  century 
as  to  the  date  of  the  building  of  the  facades  of  the  Ducal 
Palace,  and  that  nothing  was  known  of  any^other  civil  edifice 
of  the  early  city,  except  that  at  some  time  or  other  it  had  been 
fitted  up  for  somebody’s  reception,  and  been  thereupon  fresh 
painted.  Every  date  in  question  was  determinable  only  by 
internal  evidence,  and  it  became  necessary  for  me  to  examine 
not  only  every  one  of  the  older  palaces,  stone  by  stone,  but 


IV 


PKEFACE. 


every  fragment  tliroiigliout  tlie  city  wliicli  afforded  any  cine 
to  tlie  formation  of  its  stylos.  This  I  did  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  I  believe  there  will  be  found,  in  the  following  pages,  the 
only  existing  account  of  the  details  of  early  Venetian  architec¬ 
ture  on  which  dependence  can  be  placed,  as  far  as  it  goes.  I 
do  not  care  to  point  out  the  deficiencies  of  other  works  on  this 
subject ;  the  reader  will  find,  if  he  examines  them,  either  that 
the  buildings  to  which  I  shall  specially  direct  his  attention 
have  been  hitherto  undescribed,  br  else  that  there  are  great 
discrepancies  between  previous  descriptions  and  mine :  for 
which  discrepancies  I  may  be  permitted  to  give  this  single  and 
sufficient  reason,  that  my  account  of  every  building  is  based 
on  personal  examination  and  measurement  of  it,  and  that  my 
taking  the  pains  so  to  examine  what  I  had  to  describe,  was  a 
subject  of  grave  surprise  to  my  Italian  friends.  The  work  of 
the  Marchese  Selvatico  is,  however,  to  be  distinguished  with 

respect ;  it  is  clear  in  arrangement,  and  full  of  useful,  though 

* 

vague,  information  ;  and  I  have  found  cause  to  adoj)t,  in  great 
measure,  its  views  of  the  chronological  succession  of  the 
edifices  of  Venice.  I  shall  have  cause  hereafter  to  quarrel 
with  it  on  other  grounds,  but  not  without  expression  of  grati¬ 
tude  for  the  assistance  it  has  given  me.  Fontana’s  “  Fabbriche 
di  Venezia”  is  also  historically  valuable,  but  does  not  attempt 
to  give  architectural  detail.  Cicognara,  as  is  now  generally 
known,  is  so  inaccurate  as  hardly  to  deserve  mention. 

Indeed,  it  is  not  easy  to  be  accurate  in  an  account  of  any¬ 
thing,  however  simple.  Zoologists  often  disagree  in  their 
descriptions  of  the  curve  of  a  shell,  or  the  2fiumage  of  a  bird, 
though  they  may  lay  their  specimen  on  tlie  table,  and  ex¬ 
amine  it  at  their  leisure ;  how  much  greater  becomes  the  like¬ 
lihood  of  error  in  the  description  of  things  which  must  be  in 
many  parts  observed  from  a  distance,  or  under  unfavorable 


PREFACE. 


V 


circumstances  of  light  and  shade ;  and  of  which  many  of  the 
distinctive  features  have  been  worn  away  by  time.  I  believe 
few  people  have  any  idea  of  the  cost  of  truth  in  these  things ; 
of  the  expenditure  of  time  necessary  to  make  sure  of  the 
simplest  facts,  and  of  the  strange  way  in  which  separate  obser¬ 
vations  will  sometimes  falsify  each  other,  incapable  of  recon¬ 
cilement,  owing  to  some  imperceptible  inadvertency.  I  am 
ashamed  of  the  number  of  times  in  which  I  have  had  to  sav, 
in  the  following  pages,  “  I  am  not  sure,”  and  I  claim  for  them 
no  authority,  as  if  they  were  thoroughly  sifted  from  error, 
even  in  what  they  more  confidently  state.  Only,  as  far  as  my 
time,  and  strength,  and  mind  served  me,  I  have  endeavored^ 
down  to  the  smallest  matters,  to  ascertain  and  speak  the  truth. 

ISTor  was  the  subject  without  many  and  most  discouraging 
difficulties,  peculiar  to  itself.  As  far  as  my  inquiries  have  ex¬ 
tended,  there  is  not  a  building  in  Venice,  raised  prior  to  the 
sixteenth  century,  which  has  not  sustained  essential  change  in 
one  or  more  of  its  most  important  features.  By  far  the 
greater  number  present  examples  of  three  or  four  different 
styles,  it  may  be  successive,  it  may  be  accidentally  associated  ; 
and,  in  many  instances,  the  restorations  or  additions  have 
gradually  replaced  the  entire  structure  of  the  ancient  fabric,  of 
which  nothing  but  the  name  remains,  together  with  a  kind  of 
identity,  exhibited  in  the  anomalous  association  of  the  modern¬ 
ized  portions :  the  Will  of  the  old  building  asserted  through 
them  all,  stubbornly,  though  vainly,  expressive ;  supereeded 
by  codicils,  and  falsified  by  misinterpretation ;  yet  animating 
what  would  otherwise  be  a  mere  group  of  fantastic  masque,  as 
embarrassing  to  the  antiquary,  as  to  the  mineralogist,  the 
epigene  crystal,  formed  by  materials  of  one  substance  modelled' 
on  the  perished  crystals  of  another.  The  church  of  St.  Mark’s 
itself,  harmonious  as  its  structure  may  at  first  sight  appear,  is 


VI 


PREFACE. 


an  epitome  of  the  clianges  of  Venetian  arcliitecture  from  the 
tenth  to  the  nineteenth  centurv.  Its  crypt,  and  the  line  of 
low  arches  wdiich  support  the  screen,  are  apparently  the  earliest 
portions;  the  lower  stories  of  the  main  fabric  are  of  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  with  later  Gothic  intei’pola- 
tions;  the  pinnacles  are  of  the  earliest  fully  developed  Yene- 
tian  Gothic  (fourteenth  century)  ;  but  one  of  them,  that  on 
the  projection  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Piazzetta  de 
Leoni,  is  of  far  finsr,  and  jarobably  earlier  workmanship  than 
all  the  rest.  The  southern  range  of  pinnacles  is  again  inferior 
to  the  northern  tiud  western,  and  visibly  of  later  date.  Then 
the  screen,  which  most  writers  have  described  as  part  of  the 
original  fabric,  bears  its  date  inscribed  on  its  architrave,  1394, 
and  with  it  are  associated  a  multitude  of  small  screens,  balus¬ 
trades,  decorations  of  the  interior  building,  and  probably  the 
rose  window  of  the  south  transept.  Then  come  the  inter¬ 
polated  traceries  of  the  front  and  sides ;  then  the  crochetings 
of  the  upper  arches,  extravagances  of  the  incipient  Renais¬ 
sance  :  and,  finally,  the  figures  which  carry  the  water-spouts  on 
the  north  side — utterly  barbarous  seventeenth  or  eighteenth 
century  work — connect  the  whole  with  the  plastered  restora¬ 
tions  of  the  year  1844  and  1845.  Most  of  the  palaces  in  Venice 
have  sustained  interpolations  hardly  less  numerous ;  and  those 
of  the  Ducal  Palace  are  so  intricate,  that  a  year’s  labor  would 
probably  be  insufficient  altogether  to  disentangle  and  define 
them.  I  therefore  gave  up  all  thoughts  of  obtaining  a  per¬ 
fectly  clear  chronological  view  of  the  early  architecture ;  but 
the  dates  necessary  to  the  main  purposes  of  the  book  the  reader 
will  find  well  established ;  and  of  the  evidence  brousrht  for- 
ward  for  those  of  less  importance,  he  is  himself  to  judge. 
Doubtful  estimates  are  never  made  grounds  of  argument ;  and 
the  accuracy  of  tlie  account  of  the  buildings  themselves,  for 


PKEFACE. 


Yil 

wliicli  alone  I  pledge  myself,  is  of  course  entirely  independent 
of  tliem. 

In  like  manner,  as  the  statements  briefly  made  in  the 
chapters  on  construction  involve  questions  so  difficult  and  so  gen- 
jCral,  that  I  cannot  hope  that  every  expression  referring  to  them 
^will  be  found  free  from  error :  and  as  the  conclusions  to  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  lead  the  reader  are  thrown  into  a  form 
the  validity  of  which  depends  on  that  of  each  successive  step, 
it  might  be  argued,  if  fallacy  or  weakness  could  be  detected  in 
one  of  them,  that  all  the  subsequent  reasonings  were  valueless. 
The  reader  may  be  assured,  however,  that  it  is  not  so ;  the 
method  of  proof  used  in  the  following  essay  being  only  one 
out  of  many  which  were  in  my  choice,  adopted  because  it 
seemed  to  me  the  shortest  and  simplest,  not  as  being  the 
strongest.  In  many  cases,  the  conclusions  are  those  which 
men  of  quick  feeling  would  arrive  at  instinctively ;  and  I  then 
sought  to  discover  the  reasons  of  what  so  strongly  recommended 
itself  as  truth.  Thougli  these  reasons  could  everv  one  of 
them,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  book,  be  proved 
insufficient,  the  truth  of  its  conclusions  would  remain  the  same. 
I  should  only  regret  that  I  had  dishonored  them  by  an  ill- 
grounded  defence ;  and  endeavor  to  repair  my  error  by  a  better 
one. 

I  have  not,  however,  written  carelessly ;  nor  should  I  in 
any  wise  have  expressed  doubt  of  the  security  of  the  following 
argument,  hut  that  it  is  physically  impossible  for  me,  being 
engaged  quite  as  much  with  mountains,  and  clouds,  and  trees, 
and  criticism  of  painting,  as  with  architecture,  to  verify,  as  I 
should  desire,  the  expression  of  every  sentence  bearing  upon 
empirical  and  technical  matters.  Life  is  not  long  enough  ;  nor 
does  a  day  pass  by  without  causing  me  to  feel  more  bitterly 
the  impossibility  of  carrying  out  to  the  extent  which  I  should 


PKEFACE. 


vlii 

desire,  tlie  separate  studies  wliicli  general  criticism  continuallj 
forces  me  to  undertake.  I  can  only  assure  tlie  reader,  that  he 
will  find  the  certainty  of  every  statement  I  permit  myself  tc 
make,  increase  -wfitli  its  importance ;  and  that,  for  the  security 
of  the  final  conclusions  of  the  following  essay,  as  well  as  for 
the  resolute  veracity  of  its  account  of  whatever  facts  have 
come  under  my  own  immediate  cognizance,  I  will  pledge  my¬ 
self  to  the  uttermost. 

It  was  necessary,  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  purpose  of 
the  work  (of  which  account  is  given  in  the  First  Chapter),  that 
I  should  establish  some  canons  of  judgment,  which  the  general 
reader  should  thoroughly  understand,  and,  if  it  pleased  him, 
accept,  before  we  took  cognizance,  together,  of  any  architecture 
whatsoever.  It  has  taken  me  more  time  and  trouble  to  do  this 
than  I  expected  ;  but,  if  I  have  succeeded,  the  thing  done  will 
be  of  use  for  many  other  purposes  than  that  to  which  it  is  now 
put.  The  establishment  of  these  canons,  which  I  have  called 
“the  Foundations,”  and  some  account  of  the  connection  of 
Venetian  architecture  with  that  of  the  rest  of  Europe,  have 
filled  the  present  volume.  The  second  wiU,  I  liope,  contain  all 
I  have  to  say  about  Venice  itself. 

It  was  of  course  inexpedient  to  reduce  drawings  of  crowded 
details  to  the  size  of  an  octavo  volume, — I  do  not  say  impossi- 
<  ble,  but  inexpedient ;  requiring  infinite  pains  on  the  part  of 
the  engraver,  with  no  result  except  farther  pains  to  the  be¬ 
holder.  And  as,  on  the  other  hand,  folio  books  are  not  easy 
reading,  I  determined  to  separate  the  text  and  the  unreduci- 
ble  plates.  I  have  given,  with  the  principal  text,  all  the  illus¬ 
trations  absolutely  necessary  to  the  understanding  of  it,  and,  in 
the  detached  work,  such  additional  text  as  has  special  reference 
to  the  larger  illustrations. 

A  considerable  number  of  these  larger  plates  were  at  first 


PREFACE. 


IX 


intended  to  be  executed  in  tinted  lithography ;  hnt,  finding  the 
result  unsatisfactory,  I  have  determined  to  prepare  the  princi¬ 
pal  subjects  for  mezzotinting, — a  change  of  method  requiring 
two  new  drawings  to  be  made  of  every  subject ;  one  a  carefully 
penned  outline  for  the  etcher,  and  then  a  finished  drawing 
upon  the  etching.  This  ■work  does  not  proceed  fast,  while  I 
am  also  occupied  with  the  completion  of  the  text  ;  but  the 
numbers  of  it  will  appear  as  fast  as  I  can  prepare  them. 

For  the  illustrations  of  the  body  of  the  work  itself,  I  have 
used  any  kind  of  engraving  which  seemed  suited  to  the  sub¬ 
jects — line  and  mezzotint,  on  steel,  with  mixed  lithographs 
and  woodcuts,  at  considerable  loss  of  uniformity  in  the  appear¬ 
ance  of  the  volume,  but,  I  hope,  with  advantage,  in  rendering 
the  character  of  the  architecture  it  describes.  And  both  in 
the  plates  and  the  text  I  have  aimed  chiefly  at  clear  intelligi¬ 
bility  ;  that  any  one,  however  little  versed  in  the  subject,  might 
be  able  to  take  up  the  book,  and  understand  ■what  it  meant 
forthwith,  I  have  utterly  failed  of  my  purpose,  if  I  have  not 
made  all  the  essential  parts  of  the  essay  intelligible  to  the  least 
learned,  and  easy  to  the  most  desultory  readers,  who  are  likely 
to  take  interest  in  the  matter  at  all.  There  are  few  passages 
■which  even  require  so  much  as  an  acquaintance  with  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  Euclid,  and  these  may  be  missed,  without  harm  to 
the  sense  of  the  rest,  by  every  reader  to  whom  they  may 
ajDpear  mysterious  ;  and  the  architectural  terms  necessarily  em¬ 
ployed  (which  are  very  few)  are  explained  as  they  occur,  or  in 
a  note ;  so  that,  though  I  may  often  be  found  trite  or  tedious, 
I  trust  that  I  shall  not  be  obscure.  I  am  especially  anxious  to 
rid  this  essay  of  ambiguity,  because  I  want  to  gain  the  ear  of 
all  kinds  of  j^ersons.  Every  man  has,  at  some  time  of  his  life, 
personal  interest  in  architecture.  He  has  influence  on  the 
design  of  some  public  building ;  or  he  has  to  buy,  or  build,  or 


X 


PREFACE. 


alter  his  own  house.  It  signifies  less  whether  the  knowledge 
of  other  arts  be  general  or  not ;  men  may  live  without  buying 
pictures  or  statues :  but,  in  architecture,  all  must  in  some  way 
commit  themselves ;  they  must  do  mischief,  and  waste  their 
money,  if  they  do  not  know  how  to  turn  it  to  account. 
Churches,  and  shops,  and  warehouses,  and  cottages,  and  small 
row,  and  place,  and  terrace  houses,  must  be  built,  and  lived  in, 
liowever  joyless  or  inconvenient.  And  it  is  assuredly  intended 
that  all  of  us  should  have  knowledge,  and  act  upon  our  knowh 
edge,  in  matters  with  which  we  are  daily  concerned,  and  not 
to  be  left  to  the  caprice  of  architects  or  mercy  of  contractors. 
There  is  not,  indeed,  anything  in  the  following  essay  bearing 
on  the  special  forms  and  needs  of  modern  buildings  ;  but  the 
principles  it  inculcates  are  universal ;  and  they  are  illustrated 
from  the  remains  of  a  city  which  should  surely  be  interesting 
to  the  men  of  London,  as  affording  the  richest  existing  exam¬ 
ples  of  architecture  raised  by  a  mercantile  community,  for 
civil  uses,  and  domestic  magnificence. 


Denmark  Hill,  February,  1851. 


COI^TE^^TS, 


1»aGE 

Preface,  .........  iii 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  Quarry,  ........  1 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Virtues  of  Architecture,  .  .  .  .  .  .36 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Six  Divisions  of  Architecture,  .....  47 

% 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  “Wall  Base,  ........  53 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Wall  Veil,  ........  58 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Wall  Cornice,  .......  63 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Pier  Base,  ........  71 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Shaft,  .........  84 

CHAPTER  IX. 

The  Capital,  ........  105 


CONTENTS, 


Xll 

PAoa 

CHAPTER  X. 

The  Arch  Line,  123 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Arch  Masonry,  .......  132 

CHAPTER  XIL 

The  Arch  Load,  ........  144 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

The  Roof,  .........  148 

CH4PTER  XIV. 

The  Roof  Cornice,  .  .  .  .  ,  .  .  ,155 

CHAPTER-  XV. 

The  Buttress,  ........  166 

• 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Form  of  Aperture,  ........  174 

CHAPTER  XTII. 

Filling  of  Aperture,  .....♦,  183 

CHAPTER  XVllI. 

Protection  of  Aperture,  .......  195 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Superimposition,  200 

CHAPTER  XX 

The  Material  of  Ornament,  ......  211 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Tieatmcntof  Ornament,  ......  23(J 


COKTEKTS, 


xin 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

The  .ingle,  ........  259 

CHAPTER  XXm. 

The  Edge  and  Fillet  .......  267 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Roll  and  Recess,  .......  276 

CHAPTER  XXY. 

The  Base,  ........  281 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

The  Wall  Veil  and  Shaft,  ......  294 

CHAPTER  XXYIL 

The  Cornice  and  Capital,  ......  305 

CHAPTER  XXVIII, 

The  Archivolt  and  Aperture,  ......  333 

CHAPTER  XXIX.  , 

The  Roof,  ........  343 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Vestibule,  ........  349 


APPENDIX. 


1.  Foundation  of  Venice, 

2.  Power  of  the  Doges 

8.  SeiTar  del  Consiglio,  . 
4  S.  Pietro  di  Castello, 


.  359 

360 
.  360 

361 


XIV 


CONTENTS, 


5.  Papal  Power  in  Venice,  .  . 

6.  Renaissance  Ornaments.  .  .  • 

7.  Varieties  of  the  Orders,  .  . 

8.  The  Northern  Energy,  .  .  • 

9.  Wooden  Churches  of  the  North, 

JO.  Church  of  Alexandria, 

11.  Renaissance  Landscape,  .  . 

12.  Romanist  Modern  Art, 

13.  Mr.  Fergusson’s  System, 

14.  Divisions  of  Humanity, 

15.  Instinctive  Judgments, 

16.  Strength  of  Shafts, 

17.  Answer  to  Mr.  Garbett, 

18.  Early  English  Capitals, 

19.  Tombs  near  St.  Anastasia, 

20.  Shafts  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 

21.  Ancient  Representations  of  Water,  . 

22.  Arabian  Ornamentation,  . 

23.  Varieties  of  Chamfer, 

24.  Renaissance  Bases, 

25.  Romanist  Decoration  of  Bases, 


PAGE 

.  362 
369 
.  370 
371 
.  381 
381 
.  381 
384 
.  388 
394 
.  399 
402 
.  403 
411 
.  412 
413 
.  417 
429 
.  429 
431 
.  48^ 


LIST  OF  PLATES. 


Facing  Page 

Plate  1.  Wall  Veil  Decoration,  Ca’  Trevisan  and  Ca’  Dario,  .  .  13 

“  2.  Plans  of  Piers,  ......  100 

‘  3.  Arch  Masonry,  .  .  .  .  ,  .  ,134 

‘  4.  Arch  Masonry,  .  .  .  ,  ,  .  137 

‘  5.  Arch  Masonry,  Bruletto  of  Como,  .  ,  .  .  141 

‘  6.  Types  of  Towers,  ......  207 

‘  7.  Abstracts  Lines,  ......  222 

‘  8.  Decorations  by  Disks,  Ca’  Badoari,  .  „  ,  241 

‘  9.  Edge  Decoration,  ......  268 

‘  10.  Profiles  of  Bases,  ......  283 

‘  11.  Plans  of  Bases,  .......  288 

‘  12.  Decorations  of  Bases,  .....  289 

‘  13.  Wall  Veil  Decorations,  ......  295 

‘  14.  Spandril  Decorations,  Ducal  Palace,  .  .  .  298 

‘  15.  Cornice  Profiles,  .......  306 

‘  16.  Cornice  Decorations,  .  ,  .  .  .  311 

‘  17.  Capitals — Concave,  ......  323 

‘  18.  Capitals — Convex,  ......  327 

‘  19.  Archivolt  Decoration,  Verona,  .....  333 

‘  20.  Wall  Veil  Decoration,  Ca’  Trevisan,  .  .  .  369 

“  21.  Wall  Veil  Decoration,  San  MichelC,  Lucca,  .  .  .  378 


THE 


STONES  OF  TENICE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE  QUAERY. 

§  I.  Since  the  first  dominion  of  men  was  asserted  over  the 
ocean,  three  thrones,  of  mark  beyond  all  others,  have  been  set 
upon  its  sands  :  the  thrones  of  Tjo'e,  Venice,  and  England, 
Of  the  First  of  these  great  powers  only  the  memory  remains  ; 
of  the  Second,  the  ruin  ;  the  Third,  which  inherits  their  great¬ 
ness,  if  it  forget  their  example,  may  be  led  through  prouder 
eminence  to  less  pitied  destniction. 

The  exaltation,  the  sin,  and  the  punishment  of  T}n’e  have 
been  recorded  for  ns,  in  perhaps  the  most  touching  words  ever 
uttered  by  the  Prophets  of  Israel  against  the  cities  of  the 
stranger.  But  we  read  them  as  a  lovely  song ;  and  close  our 
ears  to  the  sternness  of  their  warning :  for  the  very  depth  of 
the  Fall  of  Tyre  has  blinded  us  to  its  reality,  and  we  forget, 
as  we  watch  the  bleaching  of  the  rocks  between  the  sunshine 
and  the  sea,  that  they  were  once  “  as  in  Eden,  the  garden  of 
God.” 

Her  successor,  like  her  in  perfection  of  beauty,  though  less 
in  endurance  of  dominion,  is  still  left  for  our  beholding  in  the 
final  period  of  her  decline :  a  ghost  upon  the  sands  of  the  sea, 
60  weak — so  quiet, — so  bereft  of  all  but  her  loveliness,  that  we 
might  well  doubt,  as  we  watched  her  faint  reflection  in  the 
mirage  of  the  lagoon,  which  was  the  City,  and  which  the 
Shadow. 


2 


THE  QUAERT. 


I  would  endeavor  to  trace  the  lines  of  this  image  before  it 
he  for  ever  lost,  and  to  record,  as  far  as  I  may,  the  warning 
which  seems  to  me  to  be  uttered  by  every  one  of  the  fast-gain¬ 
ing  waves,  that  beat,  like  passing  bells,  against  the  Stones  of 

V"  ENICE. 

§  II.  It  would  be  dithcnlt  to  overrate  the  value  of  the  les¬ 
sons  which  might  be  derived  from  a  faithful  study  of  the  his¬ 
tory  of  this  strange  and  mighty  city  :  a  history  which,  in  spite 
of  the  labor  of  countless  chroniclers,  remains  in  vague  and  dis¬ 
putable  outline, — barred  with  brightness  and  shade,  like  the 
far  away  edge  of  her  own  ocean,  where  the  surf  and  the  sand¬ 
bank  are  mingled  with  the  sky.  Tlie  inquiries  in  which  we 
have  to  engage  will  hardly  render  this  outline  clearer,  but 
their  results  vull,  in  some  degree,  alter  its  aspect ;  and,  so  far 
as  they  bear  upon  it  at  all,  they  possess  an  interest  of  a  far 
higher  kind  than  that  usually  belonging  to  architectural  inves¬ 
tigations.  I  may,  perhaps,  in  the  outset,  and  in  few  words, 
enable  the  general  reader  to  form  a  clearer  idea  of  the  impor¬ 
tance  of  every  existing  expression  of  Yenetian  character 
through  Venetian  art,  and  of  the  breadth  of  interest  which 
the  true  history  of  Venice  embraces,  than  he  is  likely  to  have 
gleaned  from  the  current  fables  of  her  mystery  or  magnifi¬ 
cence. 

§  III.  V enice  is  usually  conceived  as  an  oligarchy :  She  was 
so  dining  a  period  less  than  the  half  of  her  existence,  and  that 
including  the  days  of  her  decline ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  first 
questions  needing  severe  examination,  whether  that  decline 
was  owing  in  any  wise  to  the  change  in  the  form  of  her  gov¬ 
ernment,  or  altogether,  as  assuredly  in  great  part,  to  changes, 
in  the  character  of  the  persons  of  whom  it  was  composed. 

The  state  of  V enice  existed  Thirteen  Hundred  and  Sevent v- 

€/ 

six  years,  from  the  first  establishment  of  a  consular  govern¬ 
ment  on  the  island  of  the  Eialto,'^'  to  the  moment  when  the 
General-in-chief  of  the  French  army  of  Italy  pronounced  the 
Venetian  republic  a  thing  of  the  past.  Of  this  period,  Two 


*  Appendix  1,  “Foundation  of  Venice.'* 


THE  QUAKRY. 


S 


Hundred  and  Seventy-six  * * * §  years  were  passed  in  a  nominal  sub¬ 
jection  to  the  cities  of  old  Venetia,  especially  to  Padua,  and  in 
an  agitated  form  of  democracy,  of  which  the  executive  appears 
to  have  been  entrusted  to  tribunes,f  chosen,  one  by  the  inhabi¬ 
tants  of  each  of  the  principal  islands.  For  six  hundred  years,  j; 
during  which  the  power  of  Yenice  was  continually  on  the  in¬ 
crease,  her  government  was  an  elective  monarchy,  her  King  or 
doge  possessing,  in  early  times  at  least,  as  mucli  independent 
authority  as  any  other  European  sovereign,  but  an  authority 
gradually  subjected  to  limitation,  and  shortened  almost  daily  of 
its  prerogatives,  while  it  increased  in  a  spectral  and  incapable 
magnificence.  The  final  government  of  the  nobles,  under  the 
image  of  a  king,  lasted  for  five  hundred  years,  during  which 
Yenice  reaped  the  fruits  of  her  former  energies,  consumed 
them, — and  expired. 

§  IV.  Let  the  reader  therefore  conceive  the  existence  of  the 
Yenetian  state  as  liroadly  divided  into  two  periods:  the  first 
of  nine  hundred,  the  second  of  five  hundred  years,  the  separa¬ 
tion  being  marked  by  what  was  called  the  “  Serrar  del  Con- 
siglio that  is  to  say,  the  final  and  absolute  distinction  of  the 
nobles  from  the  commonalty,  and  the  establishment  of  the 
government  in  their  hands  to  the  exclusion  alike  of  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  the  people  on  the  one  side,  and  the  authority  of  the 
doge  on  the  other. 

Then  the  first  period,  of  nine  hundred  years,  presents  us 
with  the  most  interesting  spectacle  of  a  people  struggling  out 
of  anarchy  into  order  and  power;  and  then  governed,  for  the 
most  part,  by  the  worthiest  and  noblest  man  whom  they  could 
find  among  them,§  called  their  Doge  or  Leader,  with  an  aris¬ 
tocracy  gradually  and  resolutely  forming  itself  around  him. 
out  of  which,  and  at  last  by  which,  he  was  chosen ;  an  aristou- 

*  Appendix  2,  ‘  ‘  Power  of  the  Doges.  ” 

,  f  Sismondi,  Hist,  des  Rep.  Ital.,  vol.  i.  ch.  v. 

f  Appendix  3,  “  Serrar  del  Consiglio.” 

§  “Ha  saputo  trovar  modo  che  non  uno,  non  pochi,  non  molti,  signo- 
reggiano,  ma  molti  buoni,  pochi  migliori,  e  insiememente,  wa.  ottirm  solo." 
{Sansovim.)  All,  well  done,  Venice  !  Wisdom  this,,  indeed. 


4 


THE  QUAKKT. 


racy  owing  its  origin  to  tlic  accidental  numbers,  influence,  and 
wealth  of  some  among  the  families  of  the  fugitives  from  the 
older  Venetia,  and  gradually  organizing  itself,  by  its  unity  and 
heroism,  into  a  separate  body. 

This  first  period  includes  the  rise  of  Yenice,  her  noblest 
achievements,  and  the  circumstances  which  determined  her 
character  and  position  among  European  powers;  and  within 
its  range,  as  might  have  been  anticipated,  we  find  the  names  of 
all  her  hero  princes, — of  Pietro  Urseolo,  Ordalafo  Falier, 
Domenico  Michieli,  Sebastiano  Ziani,  and  Enrico  Dandolo. 

§  V.  The  second  period  opens  with  a  hundred  and  twenty 
years,  the  most  eventful  in  the  career  of  Yenice — the  central 
struggle  of  her  life — stained  with  her  darkest  crime,  the  mur¬ 
der  of  Carrara — disturbed  by  her  most  dangerous  internal 
sedition,  the  conspiracy  of  Falier — oppressed  by  her  most  fatal 
war,  the  war  of  Chiozza — and  distinguished  by  the  glory  of 
her  two  noblest  citizens  (for  in  tliis  period  the  heroism  of  her 
citizens  replaces  that  of  her  monarchs),  Yittor  Pisani  and  Carlo 
Zeno. 

I  date  the  commencement  of  the  Fall  of  Yenice  from  the 
death  of  Carlo  Zeno,  8th  May,  1418 ;  the  visible  commence¬ 
ment  from  that  of  another  of  her  noblest  and  wisest  children, 
the  Doge  Tomaso  Mocenigo,  who  expired  five  years  later. 
The  reign  of  Foscari  followed,  gloomy  with  pestilence  and 
war ;  a  war  in  which  large  acquisitions  of  territory  were  made 
by  stbtle  or  fortunate  policy  in  Lombardy,  and  disgrace,  sig¬ 
nificant  as  irreparable,  sustained  in  the  battles  on  the  Po  at 
Cremona,  and  in  the  marshes  of  Caravaggio.  In  1454,  Y enice, 
the  first  of  the  states  of  Christendom,  humiliated  herself  to 
the  Turk:  in  the  same  year  was  established  the  Inquisition  of 
State,f  and  from  this  period  her  government  takes  the  perfid¬ 
ious  and  mysterious  form  under  which  it  is  usually  conceived. 
In  1471,  the  great  Turkish  invasion  spread  terror  to  the 


*  Daru,  liv.  xii.  ch.  xii. 

Daru.  liv.  xvi.  cap.  xx.  We  owe  to  this  historian  the  discovery  of  the 
’>t«»'t>\tes  of  the  tribunal  and  date  of  its  establishment. 


THE  QUARRY. 


5 


shores  of  the  lagoons;  and  in  1508  the  league  of  Camhrai 
marks  the  j^eriod  usually  assigned  as  the  commencement  of'the 
decline  of  the  V enetian  power ;  *  the  commercial  prosperity  of 
Yenice  in  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century  blinding  her  his¬ 
torians  to  the  jDrevious  evidence  of  the  diminution  of  her  inter¬ 
nal  strength. 

§  VI.  l^ow  there  is  apj^arently  a  significative  coincidence 
between  the  establishment  of  the  aristocratic  and  oligarchical 
powers,  and  the  diminution  of  the  prosperity  of  the  state.  But 
this  is  the  very  question  at  issue  ;  and  it  appeare  to  me  quite 
undetermined  by  any  historian,  or  determined  by  each  in  ac¬ 
cordance  with  his  own  jirejudices.  It  is  a  trijole  question : 
first,  whether  the  oligarchy  established  by  the  effoids  of  indi¬ 
vidual  ambition  was  the  cause,  in  its  subsequent  operation,  of 
the  Fall  of  Yenice  ;  or  (secondly)  whether  the  establishment  of 
the  oligarchy  itself  be  not  the  sign  and  evidence,  rather  than 
the  cause,  of  national  enervation ;  or  (lastly)  whether,  as  I 
rather  think,  the  history  of  Yenice  might  not  be  written 
almost  without  reference  to  the  construction  of  her  senate  or 
the  prerogatives  of  her  Doge.  It  is  the  history  of  a  people 
eminently  at  unity  in  itself,  descendants  of  Boman  race,  long 
disciplined  by  adversity,  and  compelled  by  its  position  either  to 
live  nobly  or  to  perish : — for  a  thousand  years  they  fought  for 
life ;  for  three  hundred  they  invited  death :  their  battle  w^as 
rewarded,  and  their  call  was  heard. 

§  VII.  Throughout  her  career,  the  victories  of  Y enicc,  and, 
at  many  periods  of  it,  her  safety,  were  purchased  by  individual 
heroism ;  and  the  man  who  exalted  or  saved  her  was  sometimes 
(oftencst)  her  king,  sometimes  a  noble,  sometimes  a  citizen. 
To  him  no  matter,  nor  to  her:  the  real  question  is,  not  sc 
much  what  names  they  bore,  or  with  what  powers  they  were 
entrusted,  as  how  they  were  trained ;  how  they  were  made 
masters  of  themselves,  servants  of  their  country,  patient  of 
distress,  impatient  of  dishonor ;  and  what  was  the  true  reason 

*  Ominously  signified  by  their  humiliation  to  the  Papal  power  (as  before 
to  the  Turkish)  in  1509,  and  their  abandonment  of  their  right  of  appointing 
the  clergy  of  their  territories. 


6 


THE  QL^VKKY. 


of  the  change  from  the  time  wlien  she  could  find  saviours 
among  those  whom  she  had  cast  into  prison,  to  that  when  the 
voices  of  her  own  children  commanded  her  to  sign  covenant 
with  Death,* 

§  VIII.  On  this  collateral  question  I  wish  the  reader’s  mind 
to  be  fixed  throughout  all  our  subsequent  inquiries.  It  will 
give  double  interest  to  every  detail :  nor  will  the  interest  be 
profitless ;  for  the  evidence  which  I  shall  be  able  to  deduce 
from  tlie  arts  of  Yenice  will  be  both  frequent  and  irrefragable, 
that  the  decline  of  her  political  prosperity  was  exactly  coinci¬ 
dent  with  that  of  domestic  and  individual  religion. 

I  say  domestic  and  individual ;  for — and  this  is  the  second 
point  which  I  wish  the  reader  to  keep  in  mind — the  most 
curious  phenomenon  in  all  Yenetian  history  is  the  vitality  of 
religion  in  private  life,  and  its  deadness  in  public  policy. 
Amidst  the  enthusiasm,  chivalry,  or  fanaticism  of  the  other 
states  of  Europe,  Yenice  stands,  from  first  to  last,  like  a 
masked  statue ;  her  coldness  impenetrable,  her  exertion  only 
aroused  by  the  touch  of  a  secret  spring.  That  spring  was  her 
commercial  interest, — this  the  one  motive  of  all  her  important 
political  acts,  or  enduring  national  animosities.  She  could 
forgive  insults  to  her  honor,  but  never  rivalship  in  her  com¬ 
merce  ;  she  calculated  the  glory  of  her  conquests  by  their 
value,  and  estimated  their  justice  by  their  facility.  The  fame 
of  success  remains,  when  the  motives  of  attempt  are  forgotten ; 
and  the  casual  reader  of  her  history  may  perhaps  be  smqirised 
to  be  reminded,  that  the  expedition  which  was  commanded  by 
the  noblest  of  her  princes,  and  whose  results  added  most  to  her 
military  glory,  was  one  in  which  while  all  Europe  around  her 
was  wasted  by  the  fire  of  its  devotion,  she  first  calculated  the 
highest  price  she  could  exact  from  its  piety  for  the  armament 
she  furnished,  and  then,  for  the  advancement  of  her  own  pri¬ 
vate  interests,  at  once  broke  her  faith  f  and  betrayed  her  religion. 

*  The  senate  voted  the  abdication  of  their  authority  by  a  majority  of 
612  to  14.  (Alison,  ch.  xxiii.) 

f  By  directing  the  arms  of  the  Crusaders  against  a  Christian  prince. 
(Daru,  liv  iv.  ch.  iv.  viii.) 


THE  QUARRY. 


7 


§  IX.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  this  national  criminality,  we 
shall  he  struck  again  and  again  by  the  evidences  of  the  most 
noble  individual  feeling.  The  tears  of  Dandolo  were  not  shed 
in  hypocrisy,  though  they  could  not  blind  him  to  the  impor¬ 
tance  of  the  conquest  of  Zara.  The  habit  of  assigning  to  re¬ 
ligion  a  direct  influence  over  all  his  own  actions,  and  all  the 
affairs  of  his  own  daily  life,  is  remarkable  in  every  great 
Venetian  during  the  times  of  the  prosperity  of  the  state;  nor 
are  instances  wanting  in  which  the  private  feeling  of  the  citi¬ 
zens  reaches  the  sphere  of  their  policy,  and  even  becomes  the 
guide  of  its  course  where  the  scales  of  expediency  are  doubt¬ 
fully  balanced.  I  sincerely  trust  that  the  inquirer  would  be 
disappointed  who  should  endeavor  to  trace  any  more  imme¬ 
diate  reasons  for  their  adoption  of  the  c*ause  of  Alexander  III. 
against  Barbarossa,  than  the  piety  which  was  excited  by  the 
character  of  their  suppliant,  and  the  noble  pride  which  was 

provoked  by  the  insolence  of  the  em2')eror.  But  the  heart  of 

Venice  is  shown  only  in  her  hastiest  councils ;  her  worldly 
spirit  recovers  the  ascendency  wlienever  she  has  time  to  cal¬ 
culate  the  probabilities  of  advantage,  or  when  they  are  sutfl- 
ciently  distinct  to  need  no  calculation ;  and  the  entire  subjec¬ 
tion  of  pri^'ate  piety  to  national  policy  is  not  only  remarkable 
throughout  the  almost  endless  series  of  treacheries  and  tyran¬ 
nies  by  which  her  empire  was  enlarged  and  maintained,  but 
symbolised  by  a  \"ery  singular  circumstance  in  the  building  of 
the  city  itself.  I  am  aware  of  no  other  city  of  Europe  in 
which  its  cathedral  was  not  the  principal  feature.  But  the 

principal  church  in  Venice  was  the  chapel  attached  to  the 

palace  of  her  prince,  and  called  the  “  Chiesa  Ducale.”  The 
patriarchal  church,*  inconsiderable  in  size  and  mean  in  deco¬ 
ration,  stands  on  the  outermost  islet  of  the  Venetian  grou]!, 
and  its  name,  as  well  as  its  site,  is  probably  unknown  to  the 
greater  number  of  travellers  passing  hastily  through  the  city, 
hlor  is  it  less  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  two  most  imjiortant 
temples  of  Venice,  next  to  the  ducal  chajrel,  owe  their  size  and 


*  Appendix  4,  “  San  Pietro  di  Gastello.” 


8 


THE  QUAEKY. 


magnificence,  not  to  national  effoi-t,  but  to  the  energy  of  tbe 
Franciscan  and  Dominican  monks,  supported  by  the  vast 
organization  of  those  great  societies  on  the  mainland  of  Italy,  ^ 
and  countenanced  by  the  most  pious,  and  perhaps  also,  in  his 
generation,  the  most  wise,  of  all  the  princes  of  Yenice,*  who 
now  rests  beneath  the  roof  of  one  of  those  very  temples,  and 
whose  life  is  not  satirized  by  the  images  of  the  Virtues  which 
a  Tuscan  sculptor  has  placed  around  his  tomb. 

§  X.  There  are,  therefore,  two  strange  and  solemn  lights 
in  whi^'h  we  have  to  regard  almost  every  scene  in  the  fitful 
history  of  the  Eivo  Alto.  Y'e  find,  on  the  one  hand,  a  deep 
and  constant  tone  of  individual  religion  characterising  the 
lives  of  the  citizens  of  Y enice  in  her  greatness ;  Ave  find  this 
spirit  influencing  them  in  all  the  familiar  and  immediate  con¬ 
cerns  of  life,  giving  a  peculiar  dignity  to  the  conduct  even  of 
their  commercial  transactions,  and  confessed  by  them  with  a 
sim])licity  of  faith  that  may  Avell  put  to  shame  the  hesitation 
with  which  a  man  of  the  world  at  present  admits  (even  if  it 
be  so  in  reality)  that  religious  feeling  has  any  influence  OAmr 
the  minor  branches  of  his  conduct.  And  we  find  as  the  natu- 
nd  consequence  of  all  this,  a  healthy  serenity  of  mind  and 
energy  of  will  expressed  in  all  their  actions,  and  a  habit  of 
heroism  which  never  fails  them,  eA^en  Avhen  the  immediate 
motive  of  action  ceases  to  be  praiseworthy.  With  the  fulness 
of  this  spirit  the  prosperity  of  the  state  is  exactly  correspond¬ 
ent,  and  Avith  its  failure  her  decline,  and  that  AAuth  a  closeness 
'and  precision  Avhich  it  will  be  one  of  the  collateral  olqects  of 
the  folloAAung  essay  to  demonstrate  from  such  accidental  eAU- 
dence  as  the  field  of  its  inquiry  presents.  And,  thus  far,  all 
is  natural  and  simple.  But  the  stopping  short  of  tins  religious 
faith  A\dien  it  appears  likely  to  influence  national  action,  cor¬ 
respondent  as  it  is,  and  that  most  strikingly,  vnth  several  char¬ 
acteristics  of  the  temjjer  of  our  present  English  legislature,  is 
a  subject,  morally  and  politically,  of  the  most  curious  inter¬ 
est  and  comjilicated  difficulty;  one,  hoAvever,  which  the. range 

*  Tomaso  IMoceuigo,  above  named,  § 


THE  QUARRY. 


9 


of  my  present  inquiry  will  not  peimit  me  to  approach,  and  for 
the  treatment  of  which  I  must  be  content  to  furnish  materials 
in  the  light  I  may  he  able  to  throw  upon  the  private  tenden¬ 
cies  of  the  Venetian  character. 

§  XI.  There  is,  however,  another  most  interesting  feature 
in  the  policy  of  Venice  which  will  be  often  brought  before  us; 
and  which  a  Romanist  would  gladly  assign  as  the  reason  of  its 
irreligion ;  namely,  the  magnificent  and  successful  struggle 
which  she  maintained  against  the  temporal  authority  of  the 
Church  of  Rome.  It  is  tnie  that,  in  a  rapid  survey  of  her 
career,  the  eye  is  at  first  arrested  by  the  strange  drama  to 
vdiich  I  have  already  alluded,  closed  by  that  ever  memorable 
scene  in  the  portico  of  St.  Mark’s,*  the  central  expression  in 
most  men’s  thoughts  of  the  unendurable  elevation  of  the  pon¬ 
tifical  power;  it  is  true  that  the  proudest  thoughts  of  Venice, 
as  well  as  the  insignia  of  her  prince,  and  the  form  of  her  chief 
festival,  recorded  the  service’  thus  rendered  to  the  Roman 
Church.  But  the  enduring  sentiment  of  years  more  than 
balanced  the  enthusiasm  of  a  moment ;  and  the  bull  of  Clem¬ 
ent  V.,  which  excommunicated  the  Venetians  and  their  doge, 
likening  them  to  Dathan,  Abiram,  Absalom,  and  Lucifer,  is  a 
stronger  evidence  of  the  great  tendencies  of  the  Venetian 
government  than  the  umbrella  of  the  doge  or  the  ring  of  the 
Adriatic.  The  humiliation  of  Francesco  Dandolo  blotted  out 
the  shame  of  Barbarossa,  and  the  total  exclusion  of  ecclesiastics 
from  all  share  in  the  councils  of  Venice  became  an  enduring 

*  “  In  that  temple  porch, 

(The  brass  is  gone,  the  porphyry  remains,) 

Did  Barbarossa  fling  his  mantle  off. 

And  kneeling,  on  his  neck  receive  the  foot 
Of  the  proud  Pontiff — thus  at  last  consoled 
For  flight,  disguise,  and  many  an  aguish  shake 
On  his  stone  pillow.” 

I  need  hardly  say  whence  the  lines  are  taken  :  Rogers’  ‘  ‘  Italy”  has,  I  be¬ 
lieve,  now  a  place  in  the  best  beloved  compartment  of  all  libraries,  and  will 
never  be  removed  from  it.  There  is  more  true  expression  of  the  spirit  of 
Venice  in  the  passages  devoted  to  her  in  that  poem,  than  in  all  else  that  has 
been  written  of  her. 


10 


THE  QUAERT. 


mark  of  her  knowledge  of  'the  spirit  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
and  of  her  deliance  of  it. 

To  this  exclusion  of  Papal  influence  from  her  councils,  the 
Romanist  will  attribute  their  irreligion,  and  the  Protestant 
their  success.'^  The  first  may  be  silenced  by  a  reference  to  the 
character  of  the  policy  of  the  Vatican  itself  ;  and  the  second  by 
his  own  shame,  Avhen  he  reflects  that  the  English  legislature 
sacrificed  their  principles  to  expose  themselves  to  the  very 
daiiirer  which  the  Venetian  senate  sacrificed  theirs  to  aA’oid, 

§  xii.  One  more  circumstance  remains  to  be  noted  respect¬ 
ing  the  Venetian  government,  the  singular  unity  of  the  families 
composing  it, — unity  far  from  sincere  or  perfect,  but  still  ad¬ 
mirable  Avlien  contrasted  with  the  fiery  feuds,  the  almost  daily 
revolutions,  the  restless  successions  of  families  and  parties  in 
power,  which  fill  the  annals  of  the  other  states  of  Italy.  That 
rivalship  should  sometimes  be  ended  by  the  dagger,  or  enmity 
conducted  to  its  ends  under  the  mask  of  laAV,  could  not  but  be 
anticipated  where  the  fierce  Italian  spirit  was  subjected  to  so 
severe  a  restraint :  it  is  much  that  jealousy  appears  usually  un¬ 
mingled  with  illegitimate  ambition,  and  that,  for  every  instance 
in  which  private  passion  sought  its  gratification  through  public 
danirer,  there  are  a  thousand  in  which  it  was  sacrificed  to  the 
public  advantage.  Venice  may  well  call  upon  us  to  note  Avith 
reverence,  that  of  all  the  towers  which  are  still  seen  rising  like 
a  branchless  forest  from  her  islands,  there  is  but  one  whose  office 
was  other  than  that  of  summoning  to  prayer,  and  that  one  Avas  a 
watch-tower  only :  from  first  to  last,  Avhile  the  palaces  of  the 
other  cities  of  Italy  Avere  lifted  into  sullen  fortitudes  of  ram- 
pirt,  and  fringed  AAnth  forked  battlements  for  the  jaA^elin  and 
the  boAV,  the  sands  of  V enice  neA^er  sank  under  the  Aveight  of  a 
war  tower,  and  her  roof  terraces  were  Avreathed  wntli  Arabian 
imagery,  of  golden  globes  suspended  on  the  leaves  of  lilies.f 

*  At  least,  such  success  as  they  had.  Vide  Appendix  5,  “  The  Papal 
Power  in  Venice.” 

f  The  incon.siderable  fortifications  of  the  arsenal  are  no  exception  to  this 
statement,  as  far  as  it  regards  the  city  itself.  They  are  little  more  tlian  a 
•lemblauce  of  precaution  against  the  attack  of  a  foreign  enemy. 


THE  QUARRY. 


11 


§  xin.  These,  then,  appear  to  me  to  be  the  points  of  chief 
general  interest  in  the  character  and  fate  of  the  Venetian  peo¬ 
ple.  I  would  next  endeavor  to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  testimony  of  Art  bears  upon  these 
questions,  and  of  the  aspect  which  the  arts  themselves  assume 
when  they  are  regarded  in  their  tme  connexion  with  the  history 
of  the  state. 

1st.  Receive  the  witness  of  Painting. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  I  put  the  commencement  of  the 
Fall  of  Venice  as  far  back  as  1418. 

Row,  John  Bellini  was  born  in  1423,  and  Titian  in  1480. 
John  Bellini,  and  his  brother  Gentile,  two  years  older  than  he, 
close  the  line  of  the  sacred  painters  of  Venice.  But  the  most 
solemn  spirit  of  religious  faith  animates  their  works  to  the  last. 
There  is  no  religion  in  any  work  of  Titian’s :  there  is  not  even 
the  smallest  evidence  of  religious  temper  or  sympathies  either 
in  himself,  or  in  those  for  whom  he  painted.  Ilis  larger  sacred 
subjects  are  merely  themes  for  the  exhibition  of  pictorial  rhet¬ 
oric, — composition  ’and  color.  Ills  minor  works  are  generally 
made  subordinate  to  purposes  of  portraiture.  The  Madonna  in 
the  church  of  the  Frari  is  a  mere  lay  figure,  introduced  to  form 
a  hi'k  of  connexion  between  the  portraits  of'  various  members 
of  the  Pesaro  family  who  surround  her. 

Now  this  is  not  merely  because  John  Bellini  was  a  religious 
man  and  Titian  was  not.  Titian  and  Bellini  are  each  true’rep- 
resentatives  of  the  school  of  painters  contemporary  with  them ; 
and  the  difference  in  their  artistic  feeling  is  a  consequence  not 
so  much  of  difference  in  their  own  natural  characters  as  in  their 
early  education  :  Bellini  was  brought  up  in  faith ;  Titian  in 
'  formalism.  Between  the  years  of  their  births  the  vital  religion 
of  Venice  had  expired. 

§  XIV.  The  vital  religion,  observe,  not  the  formal.  Out¬ 
ward  observance  was  as  strict  as  ever ;  and  doge  and  senator 
still  were  painted,  in  almost  every  important  instance,  kneeling 
before  the  Madonna  or  St.  Mark ;  a  confession  of  faith  made 
imiversal  by  the  pure  gold  of  the  Venetian  sequin.  But  ob¬ 
serve  tlie  great  picture  of  Titian’s  in  the  ducal  palace,  of  the 


4 


12  THE  QUAERY. 

Doge  Antonio  Grimani  kneeling  before  Faith :  there  is  a 
curious  lesson  in  it.  The  figure  of  Faith  is  a  coarse  jDortrait 
of  one  of  Titian’s  least  graceful  female  models:  Faith  had 
become  carnal.  The  eye  is  first  caught  by  the  fiash  of  the 
Doge’s  armor.  The  heart  of  Venice  was  in  her  wars,  not  in 
her  worshij). 

The  mind  of  Tintoret,  incomparably  more  deep  and  serious 
than  that  of  Titian,  casts  the  solemnity  of  its  own  tone  over  the 
sacred  subjects  which  it  approaches,  and  sometimes  forgets 
itself  into  devotion ;  but  the  principle  of  treatment  is  altogether 
the  same  as  Titian’s:  absolute  subordination  of  the  religious 
subject  to  purposes  of  decoration  or  portraiture. 

The  evidence  might  be  accumulated  a  thousandfold  from 
the  works  of  Veronese,  and  of  every  succeeding  painter, — that 
the  fifteenth  century  had  taken  away  the  religious  heart  of 
V  enice. 

§  XV.  Such  is  the  evidence  of  Painting.  To  collect  that  of 
Architecture  will  be  our  task  through  many  a  page  to  come : 
but  I  must  here  give  a  general  idea  of  its  heads. 

Philippe  de  Commynes,  writing  of  his  entry  into  Venice  in 
1495,  says, — 

“  Chascun  me  feit  seoir  an  meillieii  de  ces  deux  ambassa- 
deurs  cpii  est  I’honneur  d’ltalie  que  d’estre  au  meillieu  ;  et  me 
menerent  au  long  de  la  grant  rue,  qu’ilz  appellent  le  Canal 
Grant,  et  est  bien  large.  Les  gallees  y  passent  a  travers  et  y  ay 
veil  navire  de  quatre  cens  tonneaux  on  jilus  pres  des  maisons : 
et  est  la  plus  belle  rue  que  je  croy  qui  soit  en  tout  le  monde,  et 
la  mieulx  maisonnee,  et  va  le  long  de  la  ville.  Les  maisons  sont 
fort  grandes  et  haidtes,  et  de  bonne  pierre,  et  les  anciennes 
toutes  jiainctes ;  les  aultres  faictes  depuis  cent  ans :  toutes  out 
le  devaiit  de  marbre  blanc,  qui  leur  vient  d’Istrie,  a  cent  mils 
de  la,  et  encores  maincte  grant  piece  de  porphire  et  de  sarpen- 
tine  sur  le  devant.  .  .  C’est  la  plus  triumphante  cite 

que  j’aye  jamais  veue  et  qui  plus  faict  d’honneur  a  ambassa- 
deurs  et  estrangiers,  et  qui  plus  saigement  se  gouverne,  et  ou 
le  service  de  Dieu  est  le  plus  sollempnellement  faict :  et  encores 
qu  il  y  jieust  bien  avoir  d’aultres  faultes,  si  je  croy  que  Dieu 


Trtt\uv 


muskni, 


T  S,  Boys 


-\T-fI  -  DrairaliiTii. 


THE  QUARKT. 


13 


les  a  cn  ayde  pour  la  reverence  qii’ilz  portent  an  service  de 
I’Eglise.”  ^ 

§  XVI.  This  passage  is  of  peculiar  interest,  for  two  reasons. 
Observe,  first,  the  impression  of  Commynes  respecting  the  reli¬ 
gion  of  T^enice .'  of  whicli,  as  I  have  above  said,  tlie  forms  still 
remained  v  ith  some  glimmering  of  life  in  them,  and  were  the 
evidence  of  what  the  real  life  had  been  in  former  times.  But 
observe,  secondly,  the  impression  instantly  made  on  Commynes’ 
mind  by  the  distinction  between  the  elder  palaces  and  those 
built  “within  this  last  hundred  years;  which  all  have  their 
fi  onts  of  \\  hite  marble  brought  from  Istria,  a  hundred  miles 
away,  and  besides,  many  a  large  piece  of  porjiliyry  and  serpen¬ 
tine  upon  their  fronts.” 

On  the  opposite  page  I  have  given  two  of  the  ornaments  of 
the  palaces  which  so  struck  the  French  ambassador.f  He  was 
right  in  his  notice  of  the  distinction.  There  had  indeed  come 
a  change  over  Yenetian  architecture  in  the  fifteenth  century ; 
and  a  change  of  some  importance  to  ns  moderns :  we  English 
owe  to  it  our  St.  Paul  s  Cathedral,  and  Europe  in  general  owes 
to  it  the  utter  degradation  or  destruction  of  her  schools  of  archi¬ 
tecture,  never  since  revived.  But  that  the  reader  may  under¬ 
stand  this,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  have  some  general  idea 
of  the  connexion  of  the  architecture  of  Yenice  with  that  of  the 
rest  of  Europe,  from  its  origin  forwards. 

§  XVII.  All  European  architecture,  bad  and  good,  old  and 
new,  is  derived  from  Greece  through  Borne,  and  colored  and 
perfected  frojn  the  East.  The  history  of  architecture  is  nothing 
but  the  tracing  of  the  various  modes  and  directions  of  this  de¬ 
li  vaition.  Understand  this,  once  for  all :  if  you  hold  fast  this 
great  connecting  clue,  you  may  string  all  the  types  of  successive 
architectural  invention  upon  it  like  so  many  beads.  The  Doric 
and  the  Corinthian  orders  are  the  roots,  the  one  of  all  Koman- 
esque,  massy-capitaled  buildings— Horman,  Lombard,  Byzantine, 
and  what  else  you  can  name  of  the  kind ;  and  the  Corinthian 

*  Memoires  de  Commynes,  liv.  vii.  ch.  xviii. 

t  Appendix  6,  “  Renaissance  Ornaments.” 


14 


THE  QUARRY. 


of  all  Gothic,  Early  English,  French,  German,  and  Tuscan. 
Kow  observe:  those  old  Greeks  gave  the  shaft;  Eome  gave 
the  arch  ;  the  Arabs  pointed  and  foliated  the  arch.  The  shaft 
and  arch,  the  frame-work  and  strength  of  architecture,  are  from 
the  race  of  Japheth :  the  spirituality  and  sanctity  of  it  from 
Ismael,  Abraham,  and  Shem. 

§  XVIII.  There  is  high  probability  that  the  Greek  received 
his  shaft  system  from  Egypt ;  hut  I  do  not  care  to  keep  this 
earlier  derivation  in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  It  is  only  neces¬ 
sary  that  he  should  be  able  to  refer  to  a  fixed  point  of  origin, 
when  the  form  of  the  shaft  was  first  perfected.  But  it  may  be 
incidentally  observed,  that  if  the  Greeks  did  indeed  receive 
their  Doric  from  Egypt,  then  the  three  families  of  the  earth 
have  each  contributed  their  part  to  its  noblest  architecture : 
and  Ilam,  the  servant  of  the  others,  furnishes  the  sustaining  or 
bearing  member,  the  shaft;  Jajiheth  the  arch;  Shem  the 
spiritualisation  of  both. 

§  XIX.  I  have  said  that  the  two  orders,  Doric  and  Corinthian, 
are  the  roots  of  all  European  architecture.  You  have,  j^erhaps, 
heard  of  five  orders ;  but  there  are  only  two  real  orders,  and 
there  never  can  be  any  more  until  doomsday.  On  one  of  these 
orders  the  ornament  is  convex :  those  are  Doric,  Xorman,  and 
what  else  you  recollect  of  the  kind.  On  the  other  the  orna¬ 
ment  is  concave :  those  are  Corinthian,  Early  English,  Deco¬ 
rated,  and  what  else  you  recollect  of  that  kind.  The  transitional 
fonn,  in  which  the  ornamental  line  is  straight,  is  the  centre  or 
root  of  both.  All  other  orders  are  varieties  of  those,  or  phantasms 
and  grotesques  altogether  indefinite  in  number  and  species.* 

§  XX.  This  Greek  architecture,  then,  with  its  two  orders, 
was  clumsily  copied  and  varied  by  the  Homans' with  no  particu¬ 
lar  result,  until  they  begun  to  bring  the  arch  into  extensive 
practical  service ;  except  only  that  the  Doric  capital  was  spoiled 
in  endeavors  to  mend  it,  and  the  Corinthian  much  varied  and 
enriched  with  fanciful,  and  often  very  beautiful  imagery. 
And  in  this  state  of  things  came  Christianity :  seized  upon  the 


*  Appendix  7,  “Varieties  of  the  Orders.'’ 


THE  QUAERT. 


15 


arcli  as  her  own ;  decorated  it,  and  delightea  in  it ;  invented 
a  new  Doric  capital  to  replace  the  spoiled  Roman  one :  and  all 
over  the  Roman  empire  set  to  work,  with  such  materials  as 
were  nearest  at  hand,  to  express  and  adorn  herself  as  best  she 
could.  This  Roman  Christian  architecture  is  the  exact  expres¬ 
sion  of  the  Christianity  of  the  time,  very  fervid  and  beautiful 
■ — but  very  imperfect ;  in  many  respects  ignorant,  and  yet 
radiant  with  a  strong,  childlike  light  of  imagination,  which 
flames  up  under  Constantine,  illumines  all  the  shores  of  the 
Bosphorus  and  the  ^gean  and  the  Adriatic  Sea,  and  then 
gradually,  as  the  people  give  themselves  up  to  idolatry,  becomes 
Corpse-light.  The  architecture  sinks  into  a  settled  form — a 
strange,  gilded,  and  embalmed  repose :  it,  with  the  religion  it 
expressed;  and  so  would  have  remained  for  ever, — so  does 
remain,  where  its  languor  has  been  undisturbed.*  But  rough 
wakening  was  ordained  for  it. 

§  XXL  This  Christian  art  of  the  declining  empire  is  divided 
into  two  great  branches,  western  and  eastern ;  one  centred  at 
Rome,  the  other  at  Byzantium,  of  which  the  one  is  the  early 
Christian  Romanesque,  properly  so  called,  and  the  other,  car¬ 
ried  to  higher  imaginative  perfection  by  Greek  workmen,  is 
distinguished  from  it  as  Byzantine.  But  I  wish  the  reader,  for 
the  present,  to  class  these  two  branches  of  art  together  in  his 
mind,  they  being,  in  points  of  main  importance,  the  same ; 
that  is  to  say,  both  of  them  a  true  continuance  and  sequence 
of  the  art  of  old  Rome  itself,  flowing  uninterruptedly  down 
from  the  fountain-head,  and  entnisted  always  to  the  best  work¬ 
men  Avho  could  be  found — Latins  in  Italy  and  G  reeks  in  Greece ; 
and  thus  both  branches  may  be  ranged  under  the  general  tenn 
of  Christian  Romanesque,  an  architecture  which  had  lost  the 
refinement  of  Pagan  art  in  the  degradation  of  the  empire,  but 
which  was  elevated  by  Christianity  to  higher  aims,  and  by  the 
fancy  of  the  Greek  workmen  endowed  with  brighter  forms. 
And  this  art  the  reader  may  conceive  as  extending  in  its  various 

*  The  reader  will  find  the  weak  points  of  Byzantine  architecture  shrewdly 
seized,  and  exquisitely  sketched,  in  the  opening  chapter  of  the  most  delight¬ 
ful  book  of  travels  I  ever  opened, — Curzon’s  “Monasteries  of  the  Levant.” 


16 


THE  QUARRY. 


brandies  over  all  tlie  central  provinces  of  tlie  empire,  taking 
aspects  more  or  less  refined,  according  to  its  proximity  to  the 
seats  of  government ;  dependent  for  all  its  power  on  the  vigor 
and  freshness  of  the  religion  which  animated  it ;  and  as  that 
vigor  and  purity  departed,  losing  its  own  vitality,  and  sinking 
into  nerveless  rest,  not  deprived  of  its  beauty,  but  benumbed 

and  incapable  of  advance  or  change. 

§  XXII.  Meantime  there  had  been  preparation  for  its  renewal. 
While  in  Koine  and  Constantinople,  and  in  the  districts  under 
their  immediate  influence,  this  Koman  art  of  pure  descent  was 
practised  in  all  its  refinement,  an  impure  form  of  it — a  patois 
of  Romanesque— was  carried  by  inferior  workmen  into  distant 
provinces ;  and  still  ruder  imitations  of  this  patois  were  exe¬ 
cuted  by  the  barbarous  nations  on  the  skirts  of  the  empire. 
But  these  barbarous  nations  were  in  the  strength  of  their  youth ; 
and  while,  in  the  centre  of  Europe,  a  refined  and  purely  de¬ 
scended  art  was  sinking  into  graceful  formalism,  on  its  conunes 
a  barbarous  and  borrowed  art  was  organising  itself  into  strength 
and  consistency.  The  reader  must  therefore  consider  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  work  of  the  period  as  broadly  divided  into  two 
great  heads :  the  one  embracing  the  elaborately  languid  succes¬ 
sion  of  the  Christian  art  of  Rome  5  and  the  other,  the  imita¬ 
tions  of  it  executed  by  nations  in  every  conceivable  phase  of 
early  organisation,  on  the  edges  of  the  empire,  or  included  in 
its  now  merely  nominal  extent. 

§  XXIII.  Some  of  the  barbaric  nations  were,  of  course,  not 
susceptible  of  this  influence ;  and  when  they  luirst  over  tho 
Alps,  appear,  like  the  Iluns,  as  scourges  only,  or  mix,  as  the 
Ostrogoths,  with  the  enervated  Italians,  and  give  physical 
strength  to  the  mass  with  which  they  mingle,  without  mate¬ 
rially  affecting  its  intellectual  character.  But  others,  both  south 
and  north  of  the  empire,  had  felt  its  influence,  back  to  the 
beach  of  the  Indian  Ocean  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the  ice 
creeks  of  the  North  Sea  on  the  other.  On  the  north  and  west 
the  influence  was  of  the  Latins ;  on  the  south  and  east,  of  tho 
Greeks.  Two  nations,  pre-eminent  above  all  the  rest,  represent 
to  us  the  force  of  derived  mind  on  either  side.  As  the  central 


THE  QUARRY. 


i? 


power  is  eclipsed,  tlic  orbs  of  reflected  liglit  gather  into  tfieir 
fulness ;  and  when  seiisnality  and  idolatry  bad  done  their 
work,  and  the  rehgion  of  the  empire  was  laid  asleep  in  a  glit¬ 
tering  sepulchre,  the  living  light  rose  upon  both  horizons,  and 
the  fierce  swords  of  the  Lombard  and  Arab  were  shaken  over  its 
golden  paralysis. 

§  XXIV.  The  work  of  the  Lombard  was  to  give  hardihood 
and  system  to  the  enervated  body  and  enfeebled  mind  of  Chris¬ 
tendom  ;  that  of  the  Arab  was  to  punish  idolatry,  and  to  pro¬ 
claim  the  spirituality  of  worship.  The  Lombard  covered  every 
church  which  he  built  with  the  sculptured  representations 
of  bodily  exercises — huntinor  and  M^ar.''^  The  Arab  banished 
all  imagination  of  creature  form  from  his  temples,  and  pro¬ 
claimed  from  their  minarets,  “  There  is  no  god  but  God.”  Op¬ 
posite  in  their  character  and  mission,  alike  in  their  magnificence 
of  energy,  they  came  from  the  Korth  and  from  the  South,  the 
glacier  torrent  and  the  lava  stream :  they  met  and  contended 
over  the  wreck  of  the  Homan  empire  |  and  the  very  centre  of 
the  struggle,  the  point  of  pause  of  both,  the  dead  water  of  the 
opposite  eddies,  charged  with  embayed  fragments  of  the  Eoinan 
MTeck,  is  Yexice. 

Tlie  Ducal  palace  of  Yenice  contains  the  three  elements  in 
exactly  ecjual  proportions — the  Homan,  Lomliard,  and  Arab. 
It  is  the  central  building  of  the  world. 

§  XXV.  The  reader  will  now  begin  to  understand  something 
of  the  importance  of  the  study  of  the  edifices  of  a  city  which 
includes,  within  the  circuit  of  some  seven  or  eight  miles,  the 
field  of  contest  between  the  three  pre-eminent  architectures  of 
the  world  : — each  architecture  expressing  a  condition  of  rehgion ; 
each  an  erroneous  condition,  yet  necessary  to  the  correction  of 
the  others,  and  corrected  by  them. 

§  XXVI.  It  will  be  part  of  my  endeavor,  in  the  following  work, 
to  mark  the  various  modes  in  which  the  northern  and  southern 
architectures  were  developed  from  the  Homan ;  here  I  must 
pause  only  to  name  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  the 


*  Appendix  8,  “  The  Xorthern  Energy.” 


18 


THE  QUATIEY. 


great  families.  Tlie  Christian  Eornan  and  Byzantine  work  is 
round-arched,  with  single  and  well-propoidioned  shafts  ;  capitals 
imitated  from  classical  Koman  ;  mouldings  more  or  less  so  ;  and 
large  surfaces  of  walls  entirely  covered  with  imagery,  mosaic, 
and  paintings,  whether  of  scripture  history  or  of  sacred  symbols. 

The  Arab  school  is  at  hrst  the  same  in  its  2)rincipal  features, 
the  Byzantine  workmen  being  employed  by  the  caliphs ;  but 
the  Arab  rapidly  introduces  characters  half  Persepolitan,  half 
Egyptian,  into  the  shafts  and  capitals :  in  his  intense  love  of 
excitement  he  points  the  arch  and  writhes  it  into  extravagant 
foliations  ;  he  banishes  the  animal  imagery,  and  invents  an  orna¬ 
mentation  of  his  own  (called  Arabesque)  to  replace  it :  this  not 
being  adajrted  for  covering  large  surfaces,  he  concentrates  it  on 
features  of  interest,  and  bars  his  surfaces  with  horizontal  lines 
of  color,  the  expression  of  the  level  of  the  Desert.  lie  retains 
the  dome,  and  adds  the  minaret.  All  is  done  with  exquisite 
refinement. 

§  xxvn.  The  changes  effected  l)y  tlie  Lombard  are  more 
curious  still,  for  they  are  in  the  anatomy  of  the  building,  more 
than  its  decoration.  The  Lombard  architecture  re2)resents,  as 
I  said,  the  whole  of  that  of  the  northern  barbaric  nations.  And 
this  I  believe  was,  at  first,  an  imitation  in  wood  of  the  Christian 
Homan  churches  or  basilicas.  A  ithout  staying  to  examine  the 
whole  structure  of  a  basilica,  the  reader  will  easily  understand 
thus  much  of  it :  that  it  had  a  nave  and  two  aisles,  the  nave 
much  higher  than  the  aisles ;  that  the  nave  was  separated  from 
the  aisles  by  rows  of  shafts,  which  su2:)23orted,  above,  lai’ge  sj'taces 
of  flat  or  dead  wall,  rising  above  the  aisles,  and  forming  the 
nj^l^er  part  of  the  nave,  now  called  the  clerestory,  which  had  a 
gabled  wooden  roof. 

These  high  dead  walls  were,  in  Homan  work,  built  of  stone  ; 
but  in  the  wooden  work  of  the  Hortli,  they  must  necessarily 
liave  been  made  of  horizontal  boards  or  timbers  attached  to 
uprights  on  the  toj)  of  the  nave  pillars,  which  were  themselves 
also  of  wood."^  ISTow,  these  uprights  were  necessarily  thicker 


*  Appendix  9,  "Wooden  Cliurches  of  the  North.  ’ 


THE  QUAREY. 


19 

than  the  rest  of  the  timbers,  and  formed  vertical  square  pilas¬ 
ters  above  the  nave  piers.  As  Christianity  extended  and  civili¬ 
sation  increased,  these  wooden  stnictures  were  changed  into 
stone;  but  they  were  literally  petrified,  retaining  the  form 
M'hich  had  been  made  necessary  by  their  being  of  wood.  The 
upright  pilaster  above  the  nave  pier  remains  in  the  stone  edifice, 
and  is  the  first  form  of  the  great  distinctive  feature  of  Northern 
architecture— the  vaulting  shaft.  In  that  form  the  Lombards 
brought  it  into  Italy,  in  the  seventh  century,  and  it  remains  to 
this  day  in  St.  Ambrogio  of  Milan,  and  St.  Michele  of  Pavia. 

§  XXVIII.  When  the  vaulting  shaft  was  introduced  in  the 
clerestory  walls,  additional  members  were  added  for  its  support 
to  the  nave  piers.  Perhaps  two  or  three  pine  trunks,  used  for 
a  single  pillar,  gave  the  first  idea  of  the  grouped  shaft.*  Be 
that  as  it  may,  the  arrangement  of  the  nave  pier  in  the  form  of 
a  cross  accompanies  the  superimposition  of  the  vaulting  shaft ; 
together  with  corresponding  grouping  of  minor  shafts  in  door¬ 
ways  and  apertures  of  windows.  Thus,  the  whole  body  of  the 
Northern  architecture,  represented  by  that  of  the  Lombards, 
may  be  described  as  rough  but  majestic  work,  round-arched, 
with  grouped  shafts,  added  vaulting  shafts,  and  endless  imagery 
of  active  life  and  fantastic  superstitions. 

§  XXIX.  The  glacier  stream  of  the  Lombards,  and  tlie  fol¬ 
lowing  one  of  the  Normans,  left  their  erratic  blocks,  wherever 
they  had  flowed ;  but  without  influencing,  I  think,  the  South¬ 
ern  nations  beyond  the  sphere  of  their  own  presence.  But  the 
lava  stream  of  the  Arab,  even  after  it  ceased  to  flow,  warmed 
the  whole  of  the  Northern  air  ;  and  the  history  of  Gothic  archi¬ 
tecture  is  the  history  of  the  refinement  and  spiritualisation  of 
Northern  work  under  its  influence.  The  noblest  buildings  of 
the  world,  the  Pisan-Bomanesque,  Tuscan  (Giottesque)  Gothic, 
and  eronese  Gothic,  are  those  of  the  Lombard  schools  them¬ 
selves,  under  its  close  and  direct  influence ;  the  various  Gothics 
of  the  North  are  the  original  forms  of  the  architecture  which 
the  Lombards  brought  into  Italy,  changing  under  the  less  direct 
inllnence'of  the  Arab. 

§  XXX.  Understanding  thus  much  of  the  formation  of  the 


20 


THE  QUARRY. 


great  European  styles,  ^YC  sliall  liavo  no  difficulty  in  tracing  tlio 
succession  of  arcliitectures  in  Y enice  lierself .  1  rom  wliat  I 
said  of  tlie  central  cliaracter  of  A^enetian  art,  tlie  reader  is  not, 
of  course,  to  conclude  tliat  tlie  Eoman,  Northern,  and  Arabian 
elements  met  togctlier  and  contended  for  tbe  mastery  at  tlie 
same  period.  The  earliest  element  was  the  pure  ChrisEan 
Eoman ;  but  few,  if  any,  remains  of  this  art  exist  at  A  enice  ; 
for  the  present  city  was  in  the  earliest  times  only  one  of  many 
settlements  formed  on  the  chain  of  marshy  islands  which  extend 
from  the  mouths  of  the  Isonzo  to  those  of  the  Adige,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  century  that  it  became 
the  seat  of  government ;  while  the  cathedral  of  Torcello,  though 
Christian  Eoman  in  general  form,  was  rebuilt  in  the  elevenEi 
century,  and  shows  evidence  of  Byzantine  workmanship  in 
many  of  its  details.  This  cathedral,  however,  with  the  church 
of  Santa  Fosca  at  Torcello,  San  Giacomo  di  Eialto  at  A^enice, 
and  the  crypt  of  St.  Alark’s,  forms  a  distinct  group  of  buildings, 
in  which  the  Byzantine  influence  is  exceedingly  slight ;  and 
which  is  probably  very  sufficiently  representative  of  the  earli¬ 
est  architecture  on  the  islands. 

§  XXXI.  The  Ducal  residence  was  removed  to  Y enice  in  809, 
and  the  body  of  St.  Alark  was  brought  from  Alexandria  twenty 
years  later.  The  first  church  of  St.  Mark’s  was,  doubtless, 
built  in  imitation  of  that  destroyed  at  Alexandria,  and  fiom 
which  the  relics  of  the  saint  had  been  obtained.  During  the 
ninth,  tenth,  and  eleventh  centuries,  the  arcliitecture  of  A^enice 
seems  to  have  been  formed  on  the  same  model,  and  is  almost 
identical  with  that  of  Cairo  under  the  caliphs,*  it  being  quite 
immaterial  whether  the  reader  chooses  to  call  both  Byzantine 
or  both  Arabic ;  the  workmen  lieing  certainly  Byzantine,  but 
forced  to  the  invention  of  new  forms  by  their  Arabian  masters, 
and  bringing  these  forms  into  use  in  whatever  other  parts  of 

the  world  they  were  employed. 

To  this  first  manner  of  Yenetian  architecture,  together  with 
6uch  vestiges  as  remain  of  the  Christian  Eoman,  I  shall  devote 


*  Appendix  10,  “Cliurch  of  Alexandria.” 


THE  QUARRY. 


21 


the  first  division  of  the  follo^Ying  inquiry.  The  examples  re¬ 
maining  of  it  consist  of  three  noble  churches  (those  of  Torcello, 
Murano,  and  the  greater  part  of  St.  Mark’s),  and  about  ten  or 
twelve  fragments  of  palaces. 

§  XXXII.  To  this  style  succeeds  a  transitional  one,  of  a  char¬ 
acter  much  more  distinctly  Arabian  :  the  shafts  become  more 
slender,  and  the  arches  consistently  pointed,  instead  of  round  ; 
certain  other  changes,  not  to  be  enumerated  in  a  sentence,  tak¬ 
ing  place  in  the  capitals  and  mouldings.  This  style  is  almost 
exclusively  secular.  It  was  natural  for  the  Venetians  to  imi¬ 
tate  the  beautiful  details  of  the  Arabian  dwelling-house,  while 
they  would  with  reluctance  adopt  those  of  the  mosque  for 
Christian  churches. 

I  have  not  succeeded  in  fixing  limiting  dates  for  this  style. 
It  appears  in  part  contemporary  with  the  Byzantine  manner, 
but  outlives  it.  Its  position  is,  however,  fixed  by  the  central 
date,  1180,  that  of  the  elevation  of  the  granite  shafts  of  the 
Piazetta,  whose  capitals  are  the  two  most  important  pieces  of 
detail  in  this  transitional  style  in  Venice.  Examples  of  its  ap¬ 
plication  to  domestic  buildings  exist  in  almost  every  street  of 
the  city,  and  will  form  the  subject  of  the  second  division  of  the 
following  essay. 

§  xxXiii.  The  Venetians  were  always  ready  to  receive  les¬ 
sons  in  art  from  their  enemies  (else  had  there  been  no  Arab 
work  in  Venice).  But  their  especial  dread  and  hatred  of  the 
Lombards  appears  to  have  long  prevented  them  from  receiving 
the  influence* of  the  art  which  that  people  had  introduced  on 
the  mainland  of  Italy.  Nevertheless,  during  the  practice  of 
the  two  styles  above  distinguished,  a  peculiar  and  very  primi¬ 
tive  condition  of  pointed  Gothic  had  arisen  in  ecclesiastical 
architecture.  It  appears  to  be  a  feeble  reflection  of  the  Loni- 
bard-Arab  forms,  which  were  attaining  perfection  upon  the  con¬ 
tinent,  and  would  probably,  if  left  to  itself,  have  been  soon 
merged  in  the  Venetian- Arab  school,  with  which  it  had  from 
the  first  so  close  a  fellowship,  that  it  will  be  found  difficult  to 
distinguish  the  Arabian  ogives  from  those  which  seem  to  have 
been  built  under  this  early  Gothic  influence.  The  churches  of 


22 


THE  QUARRY. 


San  Giacopo  dell’  Orio,  San  Giovanni  in  Bragora,  tlie  Carmine, 
and  one  or  two  more,  furnisli.  tlie  only  inij^ortant  examples 
of  it.  Blit,  in  tlie  tliirteentli  century,  tlie  Franciscans  and 
Dominicans  introduced  from  the  continent  their  morality  and 
their  architecture,  already  a  distinct  Gothic,  curiously  developed 
from  Lombardic  and  Northern  (German  ?)  forms ;  and  the  in- 
tlnence  of  the  principles  exhibited  in  the  vast  churches  of  St. 
Paul  and  the  Frari  began  rapidly  to  affect  the  Yenetian-Arab 
school.  Still  the  two  systems  never  became  united ;  the  Yene- 
tian  policy  repressed  the  power  of  the  clmrcli,  and  the  Yenetian 
artists  resisted  its  example ;  and  thenceforward  the  architecture 
of  the  city  becomes  divided  into  ecclesiastical  and  civil ;  the  one 
an  ungraceful  yet  powerful  form  of  the  AVestern  Gothic,  com¬ 
mon  to  the  whole  ]ieninsnla,  and  only  showing  Y enetian  sym¬ 
pathies  in  the  adoption  of  certain  characteristic  mouldings ;  the 
other  a  rich,  luxuriant,  and  entirely  original  Gothic,  formed 
from  the  Yenetian-Arab  by  the  inllnence  of  the  Dominican  and 
Franciscan  architecture,  and  especially  by  the  engrafting  upon 
the  Arab  foniis  of  the  most  novel  feature  of  the  Franciscan 
work,  its  traceries.  These  various  forms  of  Gothic,  the  distinct¬ 
ive  architecture  of  Yenice,  chiefly  represented  by  the  churches 
of  St.  John  and  Paul,  the  Frari,  and  San  Stefano,  on  the  ecclesi¬ 
astical  side,  and  by  the  Ducal  palace,  and  the  other  principal 
Gothic  palaces,  on  the  secular  side,  will  be  the  subject  of  the 
third  division  of  the  essay. 

§  xxxiv.  Now  observe.  The  transitional  (or  especially 
Arabic)  style  of  the  Y enetian  work  is  centralised  by  the  date 
1180,  and  is  transformed  gradually  into  the  Gothic,  which  ex¬ 
tends  in  its  purity  from  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  to  the  be¬ 
ginning  of  the  flfteenth  century ;  that  is  to  say,  over  the  pre¬ 
cise  period  which  I  have  described  as  the  central  epoch  of  the 
life  of  Yenice.  I  dated  her  decline  from  the  year  1418;  Fos- 
cari  became  doge  five  years  later,  and  in  his  reign  the  first 
marked  signs  appear  in  architecture  of  that  mighty  change 
which  Philippe  de  Commynes  notices  as  above,  the  change  to 
which  London  oives  St.  Paul’s,  Pome  St.  Peter’s,  Yenice  and 
Vicenza  the  edifices  commonly  supposed  to  be  their  noblest. 


THE  QUAKRY. 


23 


and  Europe  in  general  tlie  degradation  of  every  art  slie  lias 
since  practised. 

§  XXXV.  This  change  appears  first  in  a  loss  of  truth  and 
vitahty  in  existing  architecture  all  over  the  world.  (Compare 
“  Seven  Lamps,”  chap,  ii.)  All  the  Gothics  in  existence,  south¬ 
ern  or  northern,  were  corrupted  at  once :  the  German  and 
French  lost  themselves  in  every  species  of  extravagance ;  the 
English  Gothic  was  confined,  in  its  insanity,  by  a  strait-waistcoat 
of  perpendicular  lines  ;  the  Italian  effioresced  on  the  mainland 
into  the  meaningless  ornamentation  of  the  Certosa  of  Pavia 
and  the  Cathedral  of  Como  (a  style  sometimes  ignorantly  called 
Italian  Gothic),  and  at  Yenice  into  the  insipid  confusion  of  the 
Porta  della  Carta  and  wild  crockets  of  St.  Mark’s.  This  cor- 
raption  of  all  architecture,  especially  ecclesiastical,  corresponded 
with,  and  marked  the  state  of  religion  over  all  Europe, — the 
peculiar  degradation  of  the  Romanist  superstition,  and  of  public 
morality  in  consequence,  which  brought  about  the  Refonnation. 

§  XXXVI.  Against  the  corrupted  papacy  arose  two  great 
divisions  of  adversaries,  Protestants  in  Germany  and  England, 
Rationalists  in  France  and  Italy;  the  one  requiring  the  purifi¬ 
cation  of  religion,  the  other  its  destruction.  The  Protestant 
kept  the  religion,  but  cast  aside  the  heresies  of  Rome,  and  with 
them  her  aids,  by  which  last  rejection  he  injured  his  own  char¬ 
acter,  cramped  his  intellect  in  refusing  to  it  one  of  its  noblest 
exercises,  and  materially  diminished  his  influence.  It  may  be  a 
serious  question  how  far  the  Pausing  of  the  Reformation  has 
been  a  consequence  of  this  error. 

The  Rationalist  kept  the  arts  and  cast  aside  the  religion. 
This  rationalistic  art  is  the  art  commonly  called  Renaissance, 
marked  by  a  I’eturn  to  pagan  systems,  not  to  adopt  them  and 
hallow  them  for  Christianity,  but  to  rank  itself  under  them  as 
an  imitator  and  pupil.  In  Painting  it  is  headed  by  Giulio 
Romano  and  Nicolo  Poussin ;  in  Architecture  by  Sansovino 
and  Palladio. 

§  XXXVII.  Instant  degradation  followed  in  every  direction, — ■ 
a  flood  of  folly  and  hypocrisy.  Mythologies  ill  understood  at 
first,  then  perverted  into  feeble  sensualities,  take  the  place  of 


24 


THE  QUARRY. 


the  representations  of  Christian  subjects,  which  had  become 
blasphemous  under  the  treatment  of  men  like  the  Caracci. 
Gods  without  power,  satyrs  without  rusticity,  nymphs  without 
innocence,  men  without  humanity,  gather  into  idiot  grouj)S  upon 
the  polluted  canvas,  and  scenic  affectations  encumber  the  streets 
with  preposterous  marble.  Lower  and  lower  declines  the  level 
of  abused  intellect;  the  base  school  of  landscape*  gradually 
usurps  the  place  of  the  historical  painting,  which  had  sunk  into 
prarient  pedantry, — the  Alsatian  sublimities  of  Salvator,  the 
confectionery  idealities  of  Claude,  the  dull  manufacture  of 
Gaspar  and  Canaletto,  south  of  the  Al|>s,  and  on  the  north  the 
patient  devotion  of  besotted  lives  to  delineation  of  bricks  and 
fogs,  fat  cattle  and  ditchwater.  And  thus  Christianity  and 
morality,  courage,  and  intellect,  and  art  all  crambling  together 
into  one  wreck,  we  are  hurried  on  to  the  fall  of  Italy,  the  revo¬ 
lution  in  France,  and  the  condition  of  art  in  England  (saved  by 
her  Protestantism  from  severer  penalty)  in  the  time  of  George 
11. 

§  XXXVIII.  I  have  not  written  in  vain  if  I  have  heretofore 
done  anything  towards  diminishing  the  reputation  of  the  Re¬ 
naissance  landscape  painting.  But  the  harm  which  has  been 
done  by  Claude  and  the  Poussins  is  as  nothing  when  compared 
to  the  mischief  effected  by  Palladio,  Scamozzi,  and  Sansovino. 
Claude  and  the  Poussins  were  weak  men,  and  have  had  no 
serious  influence  on  the  general  mind.  There  is  little  harm  in 
their  works  being  purchased  at  high  prices  :  their  real  influence 
is  very  slight,  and  they  may  be  left  without  grave  indignation 
to  their  poor  mission  of  furnishing  dramng-rooms  and  assisting 
stranded  conversation.  Hot  so  the  Renaissance  architecture. 
Raised  at  once  into  all  the  magnificence  of  which  it  was  capable 
by  Michael  Angelo,  then  taken  up  by  men  of  real  intellect  and 
imagination,  such  as  Scamozzi,  Sansovino,  Inigo  Jones,  and 
Wren,  it  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  extent  of  its  influence  on 
the  European  mind ;  and  that  the  more,  because  few  persons 
are  concerned  with  painting,  and,  of  those  few,  the  larger  num- 


*  Appendix  11,  “Renaissance  Landscape.” 


THE  QUAERT. 


25 


ber  regard  it  witli  slight  attention  ;  but  all  men  are  concerned 
with  architecture,  and  have  at  some  time  of  their  lives  serious 
business  with  it.  It  does  not  much  matter  that  an  individual 
loses  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  in  buying  a  bad  picture,  but 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  nation  should  lose  two  or  three  him- 

O 

dred  thousand  in  raising  a  ridiculous  building.  Nor  is  it 
merely  wasted  wealth  or  distempered  conception  which  we  have 
to  regret  in  this  Renaissance  architecture  :  but  we  shall  find  in 

O 

it  partly  the  root,  partly  the  expression,  of  certain  dominant 
evils  of  modern  times — over-sophistication  and  ignorant  clas- 
sicalism  ;  the  one  destroying  the  healthfulness  of  general  soci¬ 
ety,  the  other  rendering  our  schools  and  universities  useless  to 
a  large  number  of  the  men  who  pass  through  them. 

Now  Yenice,  as  she  was  once  the  most  religious,  was  in  her 
fall  the  most  corrupt,  of  European  states  ;  and  as  she  was  in  her 
strength  the  centre  of  the  pure  currents  of  Christian  archi¬ 
tecture,  so  she  is  in  her  decline  the  source  of  the  Renaissance. 
It  was  the  originality  and  splendor  of  the  palaces  of  Yicenza 
and  Yenice  which  gave  this  school  its  eminence  in  the  eyes  of 
Europe  ;  and  the  dying  city,  magnificent  in  her  dissipation,  and 
graceful  in  her  follies,  obtained  wider  worship  in  her  decrepi¬ 
tude  than  in  her  youth,  and  sank  from  the  midst  of  her  ad¬ 
mirers  into  the  grave. 

§  XXXIX.  It  is  in  Yenice,  therefore,  and  in  Yenice  only  that 
effectual  blows  can  be  struck  at  this  pestilent  art  of  the  Renais¬ 
sance.  Destroy  its  claims  to  admiration  there,  and  it  can  assert 
them  nowhere  else.  Tins,  therefore,  wdll  be  the  final  purpose 
of  the  following  essay.  I  shall  not  devote  a  fourth  section  to 
Palladio,  nor  weary  the  reader  with  successive  chapters  of  vitu¬ 
peration  ;  but  I  shall,  in  my  account  of  the  earlier  architecture, 
compare  the  forms  of  all  its  leading  features  with  those  into  ^ 
which  they  were  corrupted  by  the  Classicalists  ;  and  pause,  in 
the  close,  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  of  decline,  so  soon  as 
I  have  made  its  depths  discernible.  In  doing  this  I  shall  de¬ 
pend  upon  two  distinct  kinds  of  evidence ; — the  first,  the  testi¬ 
mony  borne  by  particular  incidents  and  facts  to  a  want  of 
thought  or  of  feeling  in  the  builders  ;  from  which  we  may  con- 


26 


THE  QUAEET. 


elude  that  their  architecture  must  be  had ; — the  second,  the 
sense,  which  I  doubt  not  I  shall  be  able  to  excite  in  the  reader, 
of  a  systematic  ugliness  in  the  architecture  itself.  Of  the  first 
kind  of  testimony  1  shall  here  give  two  instances,  which  may 
be  immediately  useful  in  fixing  in  the  reader’s  mind  the  epoch 
above  indicated  for  the  commencement  of  decline. 

§  XL.  I  must  again  refer  to  the  importance  which  I  have 
{tbove  attached  to  the  death  of  Carlo  Zeno  and  the  doge  Tomaso 
Mocenigo.  The  tomb  of  that  doge  is,  as  I  said,  wrought  by  a 
Florentine  ;  but  it  is  of  the  same  general  type  and  feeling  as  all 
the  Yenetian  tombs  of  the  period,  and  it  is  one  of  the  last 
which  retains  it.  •  The  classical  clement  enters  largely  into  its 
details,  but  the  feeling  of  the  whole  is  as  yet  unaffected.  Like 
all  the  lovely  tombs  of  Yenice  and  Yerona,  it  is  a  sarcophagus 
with  a  recumbent  figure  above,  and  this  figure  is  a  faithful  but 
tender  portrait,  nought  as  far  as  it  can  be  Avithout  painfulness, 
of  the  doge  as  he  lay  in  death.  lie  wears  his  ducal  robe  and 
bonnet — his  head  is  laid  slightly  aside  upon  his  pillow  his 
hands  are  simply  crossed  as  they  fall.  The  face  is  emaciated, 
the  features  large,  but  so  pure  and  lordly  in  their  natural 
chiselling,  that  they  must  have  looked  like  marble  even  in  their 
animation.  They  are  deeply  Avorn  aAvay  by  thought  and 
death ;  the  veins  on  the  temples  branched  and  starting ;  the  skin 
gathered  in  sharp  folds ;  the  broAV  high-arched  and  shaggy ;  the 
eye-ball  magnificently  large ;  the  curve  of  the  lips  just  A^eiled 
by  the  light  mustache  at  tlie  side ;  the  beard  short,  double,  and 
sharp-pointed :  all  noble  and  quiet  5  the  white  sepulchral  dust 
marking  like  light  the  stern  angles  of  the  cheek  and  broAV. 

This  tomb  was  sculptured  in  11:21:,  and  is  thus  described  by 
one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the  recent  Avriters  Avho  represent 
the  poj)uiar  feeling  respecting  F  cnetian  art. 


“Of  the  Italian  school  is  also  the  rich  hut  ugly  (ricco  roa  non  bel)  sar¬ 
cophagus  in  which  repose  the  ashes  of  Tomaso  Mocenigo.  It  may  he  called 
one  of  the  last  links  which  connect  the  declining  art  of  the  Middle  Ages 
with  that  of  the  Renaissance,  which  w'as  in  its  rise.  We  Avill  not  stay  to 
particularise  the  defects  of  each  of  the  seven  figures  of  the  front  and  sides, 
■'vhich  represent  the  cardinal  and  theological  virtues  ;  nor  AA'ill  Ave  make  any 


THE  QUA  KEY. 


27 


remarks  upon  tliose  -wliicli  stand  in  the  niches  above  the  pavilion,  because 
we  consider  them  unworthy  both  of  the  age  and  reputation  of  the  Floren¬ 
tine  school,  which  \>'as  then  with  reason  considered  the  most  notable  in 
Italy.”  * 

It  is  well,  indeed,  not  to  pause  over  these  defects ;  but  it 
might  have  been  better  to  have  paused  a  moment  beside  that 
noble  imao-e  of  a  king’s  mortalitv- 

§  XLi.  In  the  choir  of  the  same  chnrch,  St.  Giov.  and 
Paolo,  is  another  tomb,  that  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Y endramin. 
This  doge  died  in  1178,  after  a  short  reign  of  two  years,  the 
most  disastrous  in  the  annals  of  Yenice.  lie  died  of  a  pesti¬ 
lence  which  followed  the  ravage  of  the  Turks,  carried  to  the 
shores  of  the  lagoons.  lie  died,  leaving  Yenice  disgraced  by 
sea  and  land,  with  the  smoke  of  hostile  devastation  rising  in 
the  blue  distances  of  Prinli ;  and  there  was  raised  to  him  the 
most  costly  tomb  ever  bestowed  on  her  monarchs. 

§  XLii.  If  the  writer  above  quoted  was  cold  beside  the  statue 
of  one  of  the  fathers  of  his  country,  he  atones  for  it  by  his  elo¬ 
quence  beside  the  tomb  of  the  Yendramin.  I  must  not  spoil 
the  force  of  Italian  superlative  by  translation. 

“  Quwiido  si  guarcla  a  quella  corretta  eleganza  cli  proflli  e  cli  proporzioni, 
a  quella  squisitezza  d’  ornamenti,  a  quel  certo  sapore  antico  che  senza  ombra 
d’  imitazione  traspare  da  tutta  1’  opera”— &c.  ‘  ‘  Sopra  ornatissimo  zoccolo  for- 
nito  di  squisiti  intagli  s’  alza  uno  stylobate”— &c.  “  Sotto  le  colonne,  il  pre- 

detto  stilobate  si  muta  leggiadramente  in  piedistallo,  poi  con  bclla  novittl  di 
pensiero  e  di  effetto  va  ooronato  da  un  fregio  il  pin  gentile  che  veder  si 
possa” — &c.  “Non  puossi  lasciar  seiiza  un  cenno  1’  area  clove  sta  chiuso  il 
doge  ;  capo  lavoro  di  pensiero  e  di  esecuzione,”  &c. 

Tliere  are  two  pages  and  a  half  of  closely  printed  praise,  of 
which  the  above  specimens  may  suffice ;  but  there  is  not  a 
word  of  the  statue  of  the  dead  from  beginning  to  end.  I  am 
myself  in  the  habit  of  considering  this  rather  an  important  pax't 
of  a  tomb,  and  I  was  especially  interested  in  it  here,  because 
Selvatico  only  echoes  the  praise  of  thousands.  It  is  unani- 


*  Selvatico,  “  Architettura  di  Venezia,”  p,  147. 


28 


THE  QEAKRY. 


moiisly  declared  the  chef  d’ oeuvre  of  Renaissance  sepulchral 
Avork,  and  pronounced  by  Cicognara  (also  quoted  by  Selvatico) 

“  II  vertice  a  cui  1’  arti  Veneziaue  si  spinsero  col  ministero  del  scalpello,” 
— “  The  very  culminating  point  to  which  the  Venetian  arte  attained  by  min¬ 
istry  of  the  chisel.” 

To  this  culminating  point,  therefore,  covered  Avith  dust  and 
cobAvebs,  I  attained,  as  I  did  to  every  tomb  of  importance  in 
Venice,  by  the  ministry  of  such  ancient  ladders  as  Avere  to  bo 
found  in  the  sacristan’s  keeping.  I  Avas  struck  at  first  by.  the 
excessive  avVAvardness  and  AA^ant  of  feeling  in  the  fall  of  the 
hand  toAvards  the  spectator,  for  it  is  throAvn  off  the  middle  of 
the  body  in  order  to  shoAV  its  fine  cutting.  Noav  the  Moce- 
nigo  hand,  soAmre  and  even  stitf  in  its  articulations,  has  its 
A-eins  finely  draAvn,  its  sculptor  haAung  justly  felt  that  the  del¬ 
icacy  of  .the  Amining  expresses  alike  dignity  and  age  and  birth. 
The  Vendramin  hand  is  far  more  laboriously  cut,  but  its  blunt 
and  clumsy  contour  at  once  makes  us  feel  that  all  the  care  has 
been  throAvn  aAvay,  and  Avell  it  may  be,  for  it  has  been  entirely 
bestoAved  in  cutting  gouty  Avrinkles  about  the  joints.  Such  as 
the  hand  is,  I  looked  for  its  felloAV.  At  first  I  thought  it  had 
been  broken  off,  but,  on  clearing  aAVfiy  the  dust,  I  saAV  the 
Avretched  effigy  had  only  one  hand,  and  Avas  a  mere  block  on 
the  inner  side.  The  face,  heaAy  and  disagreeable  in  its  feat¬ 
ures,  is  made  monstrous  by  its  semi-sculpture.  One  side  of 
the  forehead  is  AATinkled  elaborately,  the  other  left  smooth ; 
one  side  only  of  the  doge’s  cap  is  chased ;  one  cheek  only  is 
finished,  and  the  other  blocked  out  and  distorted  besides; 
finally,  the  ermine  robe,  AAdiich  is  elaborately  imitated  to  its  ut¬ 
most  lock  of  hair  and  of  ground  hair  on  the  one  side,  is  blocked 
out  only  on  the  other  :  it  havung  been  supposed  throughout  the 
Avork  that  the  effigy  Avas  only  to  be  seen  from  beloAV,  and  from 
one  side. 

§  XLiri.  It  Avas  indeed  to  be  so  seen  by  nearly  every  one  ;  and 
I  do  not  blame — I  should,  on  the  contrary,  have  praised — the 
sculptor  for  regulating  his  treatment  of  it  hy  its  position ;  if 
that  treatment  had  not  involved,  fii*st,  dishonesty,  in  giAung 


THE  QUARRY. 


29 


only  half  a  face,  a  monstrous  mask,  when  we  demanded  true 
portraiture  of  the  dead ;  and,  secondly,  such  utter  coldness  of 
feeling,  as  could  only  consist  with  an  extreme  of  intellectual 
and  moral  degradation  :  Wlio,  with  a  heart  in  his  breast,  could 
have  stayed  his  hand  as  he  drew  the  dim  lines  of  the  old  mairs 
countenance — unmajestic  once,  indeed,  but  at  least  sanctified  by 
the  solemnities  of  death — could  have  stayed  his  hand,  as  he 
'cached  the  bend  of  the  grey  forehead,  and  measured  out  the 
last  veins  of  it  at  so  much  the  zecchin  ? 

I  do  not  think  the,  reader,  if  he  has  feeling,  will  expect 
that  much  talent  should  be  shown  in  the  rest  of  his  work,  by 
the  sculptor  of  tins  base  and  senseless  lie.  The  whole  monu¬ 
ment  is  one  wearisome  aggregation  of  that  species  of  orna¬ 
mental  flourish,  which,  when  it  is  done  with  a  pen,  is  called  pen¬ 
manship,  and  when  done  with  a  chisel,  should  be  called  cliisel- 
manship ;  the  subject  of  it  being  chiefly  fat-limbed  boys 
sprawling  on  dolphins,  dolphins  incapable  of  swimming,  and 
draijged  along  the  sea  by  expanded  pocket-handkerchiefs. 

But  now,  reader,  comes  the  very  gist  and  point  of  the 
whole  matter.  This  lying  monument  to  a  dishonored  doge, 
this  culminating  pride  of  the  Benaissance  art  of  V enice,  is  at 
least  veracious,  if  in  nothing  else,  in  its  testimony  to  the  char¬ 
acter  of  its  sculptor.  He  was  hanished  from  Y^enice  for  for¬ 
gery  in  1487.* 

§  xLiv.  I  have  more  to  say  about  this  convict’s  work  here¬ 
after  ;  but  I  pass  at  present,  to  the  second,  slighter,  but  yet 
more  interesting  piece  of  evidence,  which  I  promised. 

Tlie  ducal  palace  has  two  principal  fayades ;  one  towards 
the  sea,  the  ether  towards  the  Piazzetta.  The  seaward  side,  and, 

■  as  far  as  the  seventh  main  arch  inclusive,  the  Piazzetta  side,  is 
work  of  ^he  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  century,  some  of  it 
]>erhaps  erten  earlier ;  while  the  rest  of  the  Piazzetta  side  is  of 
the  flftcrb  th.  Tlie  difference  in  age  has  been  gravely  disputed 
by  the  eiietian  antiquaries,  who  have  examined  many  docu¬ 
ments  cn  'iib.C/  .r,’bject,  and  cpioted  some  which  they  never  exam 


*  Selvatico,  p.  221. 


30 


THE  QUARKT. 


ined.  I  liave  myself  collated  most  of  tlie  written  documents, 
and  one  document  more,  to  wliicli  the  Venetian  antiquaries 
never  thought  of  referring, — the  masonry  of  the  palace  itself. 

§  XLV.  That  masonry  changes  at  the  centre  of  the  eighth 
arch  from  the  sea  angle  on  the  Piazzetta  side.  It  has  been  of 
comparatively  small  stones  uj)  to  that  point ;  the  fifteenth  cen¬ 
tury  work  instantly  begins  with  larger  stones,  “  brought  from 
Istria,  a  hundred  miles  away.”  *  The  ninth  shaft  from  the  sea 
in  the  lower  arcade,  and  the  seventeenth,  which  is  above  it,  in 
the  upper  arcade,  commence  the  series  of  fifteenth  century 
shafts.  These  two  are  somewhat  thicker  than  the  others,  and 
carry  the  party-wall  of  the  Sala  del  Scrutinio.  ISTow  observe, 
reader.  The  face  of  the  palace,  from  this  point  to  the  Porta 
della  Carta,  was  built  at  the  instance  of  that  noble  Doge  Mo- 
cenigo  beside  whose  tomb  you  have  been  standing ;  at  his 
instance,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  his  successor, 
Poscari ;  that  is  to  say,  circa  1424.  This  is  not  disputed;  it  is 
only  disputed  that  the  sea  fa^-ade  is  earlier ;  of  which,  however, 
the  iwoofs  are  as  simple  as  they  are  incontrovertible :  for  not 
only  the  masonry,  but  the  sculpture,  changes  at  the  ninth  lower 
shaft,  and  that  in  the  capitals  of  the  shafts  both  of  the  upper 
and  lower  arcade :  the  costumes  of  the  figures  introduced  in 
the  sea  facade  being  purely  Giottesque,  correspondent  with 
Giotto’s  work  in  the  Arena  Chapel  at  Padua,  while  the  cos¬ 
tume  on  the  other  capitals  is  Penaissancc-Classic :  and  the  lions’ 
heads  between  the  arches  change  at  the  same  point.  And  there 
are  a  multitude  of  other  evidences  in  the  statues  of  the  angels, 
with  which  I  shall  not  at  present  trouble  the  reader. 

§  XL VI.  ISTow,  the  architect  who  built  under  Poscari,  in  1424 
(remember  my  date  for  the  decline  of  Venice,  1418),  was 
obliged  to  follow  the  principal  forms  of  the  older  palace.  But 
lie  had  not  the  wit  to  invent  new  capitals  in  the  same  style ;  he 
therefore  clumsily  copied  the  old  ones.  The  palace  has  seven¬ 
teen  main  arches  on  the  sea  fagade,  eighteen  on  the  Piazzetta 
side,  which  in  all  are  of  course  carried  by  thiily-six  pillars; 


*  The  older  work  is  of  Istrian  stone  also,  but  of  different  quality. 


THE  QUARRY. 


31 


and  these  pillars  I  shall  always  number  from  right  to  left,  from 
the  angle  of  the  palace  at  the  Ponte  della  Paglia  to  that  next 
the  Poi-ta  della  Cai’ta.  I  number  them  in  this  succession,  be¬ 
cause  I  thus  have  the  earliest  shafts  lirst  numbered.  So 
cminted,  the  1st,  the  18th,  and  the  3Gtli,  are  the  great  supports 
of  the  angles  of  the  palace ;  and  the  first  of  the  fifteenth  cen¬ 
tury  series’s,  being,  as  above  stated,  the  9th  from  the  sea  on  the 
Piazzetta  side,  is  the  26th  of  the  entire  series,  and  will  always 
in  future  be  so  numbered,  so  that  all  numbers  above  twenty- 
six  indicate  fifteenth  century  work,  and  all  below  it,  fourteenth 
century,  with  some  exceptional  cases  of  restoiation. 

Then  the  copied  capitals  are :  the  28th,  copied  from  the 
'Tth ;  the  29th,  from  the  9th ;  the  30th,  from  the  10th ;  the 
31st,  from  the  8th ;  the  33d,  from  the  12th ;  and  the  34th, 
from  the  11th ;  the  others  being  dull  inventions  of  the  15th 
century,  except  the  36th,  wliicli  is  very  nobly  designed. 

§  XL VII.  The  capitals  thus  selected  from  the  earlier  portion 
of  tlie  palace  for  imitation,  together  with  the  rest,  will  be  ac¬ 
curately  described  hereafter ;  the  point  I  have  here  to  notice  is 
in  the  copy  of  the  ninth  capital,  which  was  decorated  (being, 
like  the  rest,  octagonal)  with  figures  of  the  eight  Virtues 
Faith,  Hope,  Charity,  Justice,  Temperance,  Prudence,  Hunnb 
ity  (the  Yenetian  antiquaries  call  it  Humanity !),  and  Forte 
tilde.  The  Yirtues  of  the  fourteenth  century  are  somewhat 
hard-featured;  with  vivid  and  living  expression,  and  plain 
every-day  clothes  of  the  time.  Charity  has  her  lap^  full  of 
apples  (perhaps  loaves),  and  is  giving  one  to  a  little  child,  Avho 
stretches  his  arm  for  it  across  a  gap  in  the  leafage  of  the  cape 
tab  Fortitude  tears  open  a  lion’s  jaws ;  Faith  lays  her  hand 
on  her  breast,  as  she  beholds  the  Cross ;  and  Hope  is  praying, 
while  above  her  a  hand  is  seen  emerging  from  sunbeams— the 
hand  of  God  (according  to  that  of  Revelations,  “  The  Lord  God 
giveth  them  light”)  ;  and  the  inscription  above  is,  “  Spes  op^ 

tima  in  Deo.” 

§  xLViii.  This  design,  then,  is,  rudely  and  with  impertect 
chiselling,  imitated  by  the  fifteenth  century  workmen:  the 
Yirtues  have  lost  their  hard  features  and  living  expression; 


32 


THE  QUARRY. 


they  liave  now  all  got  Roman  noses,  and  have  had  their  hair 
curled.  Their  actions  and  emblems  are,  however,  preserved 
until  we  come  to  Hope  :  she  is  still  praying,  hut  she  is  praying 
to  the  sun  only  :  The  hand  of  God  is  gone. 

Is  not  this  a  curious  and  striking  t}^3e  of  the  spirit  which 
had  then  become  dominant  in  the  world,  forgetting  to  see 
God’s  hand  in  the  light  Ho  gave ;  so  that  in  the  issue,  when 
that  hght  opened  into  the  Reformation  on  the  one  side,  and 
into  full  Iviiowledge  of  ancient  literature  on  the  other,  the  one 
was  arrested  and  the  other  perverted  ? 

§  XLix.  Such  is  the  nature  of  the  accidental  evidence  on 
which  I  shall  depend  for  the  proof  of  the  inferiority  of  charac¬ 
ter  in  the  Renaissance  workmen.  But  the  proof  of  the  infe¬ 
riority  of  the  work  itself  is  not  so  easy,  for  in  this  I  have  to 
appeal  to  judgments  which  the  Renaissance  work  has  itself  dis¬ 
torted.  I  felt  this  difficulty  very  forcibly  as  I  read  a  slight  re¬ 
view  of  my  former  work,  “  The  Seven  Lamps,”  in  “  The 
Architect:”  the  writer  noticed  my  constant  praise  of  St. 
Mark’s:  “Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  it  a  very  beautiful  building! 
We,”  said  the  Architect,  “think  it  a  very  ugly  building.”  I 
was  not  surprised  at  the  ditference  of  opinion,  but  at  the  thing 
being  considered  so  completely  a  subject  of  opinion.  My  op  ¬ 
ponents  in  inatters  of  painting  always  assume  that  there 
such  a  thing  as  a  law  of  right,  and  that  I  do  not  understand  it : 
but  my  architectural  adversaries  appeal  to  no  law,  they  simply 
set  their  oj)inion  against  mine ;  and  indeed  there  is  no  law  at 
present  to  which  either  they  or  I  can  appeal.  No  man  can 
speak  with  rational  decision  of  the  merits  or  demerits  of  build¬ 
ings  :  he  may  with  obstinacy ;  he  may  with  resolved  adherence 
to  previous  prejudices ;  but  never  as  if  the  matter  could  be 
otherwise  decided  than  by  a  majority  of  votes,  or  pertinacity  of 
partizanship.  I  had  always,  however,  a  clear  conviction  that 
there  was  a  law  in  this  matter :  that  good  architecture  might 
be  indisputably  discerned  and  divided  from  the  bad  ;  that  the 
opposition  in  their  very  nature  and  essence  was  clearly  visible ; 
and  that  avc  were  all  of  us  just  as  unwise  in  disputing  about 
'  the  matter  without  reference  to  princij^le,  as  we  should  be  for 


THE  QUARRY. 


33 


debating  about  the  gemiineness  of  a  coin,  without  ringing  it. 
1  felt  also  assured  that  this  law  must  be  universal  if  it  were 
conclusive ;  that  it  must  enable  us  to  reject  all  foolish  and  base 
work,  and  to  accept  all  noble  and  wise  work,  without  reference 
to  st}de  or  national  feeling ;  that  it  must  sanction  the  design  of 
all  truly  great  nations  and  times.  Gothic  or  Greek  or  Arab  ; 
that  it  must  cast  otf  and  reprobate  the  design  of  all  foolish 
nations  and  times,  Chinese  or  Mexican,  or  modern  European  : 
and  that  it  must  he  easily  applicable  to  all  23ossible  architec¬ 
tural  inventions  of  human  mind.  I  set  myself,  therefore,  to 
establish  such  a  law,  in  full  belief  that  men  are  intended,  with¬ 
out  excessive  difficulty,  and  by  use  of  their  general  common 
sense,  to  know  good  things  from  bad ;  and  that  it  is  only  be¬ 
cause  they  will  not  be  at  the  pains  required  for  the  discern¬ 
ment,  that  the  world  is  so  widely  encumbered  with  forgeries 
and  basenesses.  I  found  the  work  sinq^ler  than  I  had  hoped ; 
the  reasonable  things  ranged  themselves  in  the  order  I  re¬ 
quired,  and  the  foolish  things  fell  aside,  and  took  themselves 
away  so  soon  as  they  were  looked  in  the  face.  I  had  then, 
with  resj)ect  to  A^'enetian  architecture,  the  choice,  either  to  es- 
tablish  each  division  of  law  in  a  separate  form,  as  I  came  to  the 
features  with  which  it  was  concerned,  or  else  to  ask  the  read¬ 
er's  2:)atience,  while  I  followed  out  the  general  inquiry  first, 
and  determined  with  him  a  code  of  right  and  wrouir,  to  which 
we  might  together  make  retrosjDective  ajqjcal.  I  thought  this 
the  best,  though  2:)erha2)s  the  dullest  way ;  and  in  these  first 
following  j^tages  I  have  therefore  endeavored  to  arrange  those 
foundations  of  criticism,  on  which  I  shall  rest  in  my  account  of 
\  enetian  architecture,  in  a  form  clear  and  sim])le  enough  to  l)e 
intelligible  even  to  those  who  never  thought  of  architecture 
before.  To  those  who  have,  much  of  what  is  stated  in  them 
will  be  well  knomi  or  self-evident ;  Init  they  must  not  be  in¬ 
dignant  at  a  sim2)licity  on  which  the  whole  argument  dej^ends 
for  its  usefulness.  From  that  which  ap2:>ears  a  mere  truism 
when  first  stated,  they  will  find  very  singular  consequences 
sometimes  following, — consequences  altogether  unexjjected, 
and  of  considerable  im2)oi’tance ;  I  will  not  ^sause  here  to  dwtjlJ 


34 


THE  QUAKRY. 


on  their  importance,  nor  on  that  of  the  thing  itself  to  be  done ; 
for  1  believe  most  readers  will  at  once  admit  the  value  of  a 
criterion  of  right  and  wrong  in  so  practical  and  costly  an  art  as 
architecture,  and  will  be  apt  rather  to  doubt  the  possibility  of 
its  attainment  than  dispute  its  usefulness  if  attained.  I  invito 
them,  therefore,  to  a  fair  trial,  being  certain  that  even  if  I 
should  fail  in  my  main  purpose,  and  be  unable  to  induce  in  my 
reader  the  confidence  of  judgment  I  desire,  I  shall  at  least  re¬ 
ceive  his  thanks  for  the  suggestion  of  consistent  reasons,  which 
may  determine  hesitating  choice,  or  justify  involuntary  prefer¬ 
ence.  And  if  I  should  succeed,  as  I  hope,  in  making  the 
Stones  of  Yenice  touchstones,  and  detecting,  by  the  moulder¬ 
ing  of  her  marble,  poison  more  subtle  than  ever  was  betrayed 
by  the  rending  of  her  crystal  5  and  if  thus  I  am  enabled  to 
show  the  baseness  of  the  schools  of  architecture  and  nearly 
every  other  art,  which  have  for  three  centuries  been  predomi¬ 
nant  in  Europe,  I  l^elieve  the  result  of  the  inquiry  may  be  ser¬ 
viceable  for  proof  of  a  more  vital  truth  than  any  at  which  I 
have  hitherto  hinted.  Eor  observe:  I  said  the  Protestant  had 
despised  the  arts,  and  the  Rationalist  corrupted  them.  But 
what  has  the  Romanist  done  meanwhile  ?  He  boasts  that  it 
was  the  papacy  which  raised  the  arts ;  why  could  it  not  sup¬ 
port  them  when  it  was  left  to  its  own  strength  ?  How  came 
it  to  yield  to  Classicalism  which  was  based  on  infidelity,  and 
to  oppose  no  barrier  to  innovations,  which  have  reduced  the 
once  faithfully  conceived  imagery  of  its  worship  to  stage  deco¬ 
ration  ?  Shall  we  not  rather  find  that  Romanism,  instead  ot 
being  a  promoter  of  the  arts,  has  never  sliowm  itself  capable  of 
a  single  great  concejrtion  since  the  separation  of  Protestantism 
from  its  side?*  So  long  as,  corrupt  though  it  might  he,  no 
clear  witness  had  been  borne  against  it,  so  that  it  still  included 
in  its  ranks  a  vast  number  of  faithful  Christians,  so  long  its  arts 
were  noble.  But  the  witness  was  borne — the  error  made  ap¬ 
parent  ;  and  Rome,  refusing  to  hear  the  testimony  or  forsake 
the  falsehood,  has  been  struck  from  that  instant  Yuth  an  intel- 


*■  Appendix  12,  “  Romanist  Modern  Art.” 


THE  QUARET. 


35 


lectiial  palsy,  wliicli  lias  not  only  incapacitated  her  from  any 
fmdher  use  of  the  arts  which  once  were  her  ministers,  but  has 
made  her  worship  the  shame  of  its  own  shrines,  and  her  wor¬ 
shippers  their  destroyers.  Come,  then,  if  truths  such  as  these 
are  worth  our  thoughts ;  come,  and  let  us  know,  before  we 
enter  the  streets  of  the  Sea  citv,  whether  we  are  indeed  to  sub- 
niit  ourselves  to  their  undistinguished  enchantment,  and  to 
look  upon  the  last  changes  which  were  wrought  on  the  lifted 
forms  of  her  palaces,  as  we  should  on  the  capricious  towering 
of  summer  clouds  in  the  sunset,  ere  they  sank  into  the  deej)  of 
night ;  or  whether,  rather,  we  shall  not  behold  in  the  bright¬ 
ness  of  their  accumulated  marble,  pages  on  which  the  sentence 
of  her  luxury  was  to  be  wi'itten  until  the  waves  should  efface 
it,  as  they  fulfilled — God  has  numbered  thy  kingdom,  and 
finished  it,” 


CHAPTER  IL 


TITE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 

§1.  We  address  ourselves,  then,  first  to  the  task  of  deter- 
miniiig  some  law  of  right  Avhich  we  may  a^iply  to  the  architec¬ 
ture  of  all  the  world  and  of  all  time ;  and  by  help  of  which, 
and  judgment  according  to  which,  we  may  easily  pronounce 
whetlier  a  building  is  good  or  noble,  as,  by  applying  a  plumb- 
line,  whether  it  be  perpendicular. 

The  first  question  will  of  course  be.  What  are  the  possible 
Yirtues  of  architecture  ? 

In  the  main,  we  recpiire  from  buildings,  as  from  men,  two 
kinds  of  goodness :  first,  the  doing  their  practical  duty  well : 
then  that  they  be  graceful  and  pleasing  in  doing  it;  which 
last  is  itself  another  form  of  duty. 

Then  the  practical  duty  divides  itself  into  two  branches, — 
acting  and  talking : — acting,  as  to  defend  us  from  weather  or 
violence ;  talkinoi’,  as  the  duty  of  monuments  or  tombs,  to 
record  facts  and  express  feelings;  or  of  churches,  temples, 
public  edifices,  treated  as  books  of  history,  to  tell  such  history 
clearly  and  forcibly. 

We  have  thus,  altogether,  three  great  branches  of  architec¬ 
tural  virtue,  and  we  require  of  any  building,— 

1.  That  it  act  well,  and  do  the  things  it  was  intended  to  do 

in  the  best  way. 

2.  That  it  speak  well,  and  say  the  things  it  was  intended  to 

say  in  the  best  words. 

3.  That  it  look  avell,  and  please  us  by  its  presence,  what¬ 

ever  it  has  to  do  or  say.* 


*  Appendix  13.  ‘‘Mr.  Fergusson’s  System.” 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


37 


§  IT.  Kow,  as  regards  the  second  of  these  virtues,  it  is  evi¬ 
dent  that  we  can  establish  no  general  laws.  First,  because  it 
is  not  a  virtue  required  in  all  buildings ;  there  are  some  which 
are  only  for  covert  or  defence,  and  from  which  we  ask  no  con¬ 
versation.  Secondly,  because  there  are  countless  methods  of 
expression,  some  conventional,  some  natural:  each  convem 
tional  mode  has  its  own  alphabet,  which  evidently  can  be  no 
subject  of  general  laws.  Every  natural  mode  is  instinctively 
employed  and  instinctively  understood,  wherever  there  is  true 
feeling ;  and  this  instinct  is  above  law.  The  choice  of  con¬ 
ventional  methods  depends  on  circumstances  out  of  calcula¬ 
tion,  and  that  of  natural  methods  on  sensations  out  of  control ; 
so  that  we  can  only  say  that  the  choice  is  right,  when  we  feel 
that  the  means  are  effective ;  and  we  cannot  abvays  say  that 
it  is  wrong  when  they  are  not  so. 

A  building  which  recorded  the  Bible  history  by  means  of  a 
series  of  sculptural  pictures,  would  be  perfectly  useless  to  a 
person  unacquainted  with  the  Bible  beforehand  5  on  the  other 
hand,  the  text  of  the  Old  and  Aew  Testaments  might  be 
written  on  its  walls,  and  yet  the  building  be  a  very  inconven¬ 
ient  kind  of  book,  not  so  useful  as  if  it  had  been  adorned 
with  intelligible  and  vivid  sculpture.  So,  again,  the  power  of 
exciting  emotion  must  vary  or  vanish,  as  the  spectator  be¬ 
comes  thoughtless  or  cold ;  and  the  building  may  be  often 
blamed  for  what  is  the  fault  of  its  critic,  or  endowed  with  a 
chann  which  is  of  its  spectator’s  creation.  It  is  not,  therefore, 
possible  to  make  cxpressional  character  any  fair  criterion  of 
excellence  in  buildings,  until  we  can  fully  place  ourselves  in 
the  position  of  those  to  whom  their  expression  was  originally 
addressed,  and  until  wo  are  certain  that  wo  understand  eveiy 
symbol,  and  are  capable  of  being  touched  by  every  association 
which  its  builders  employed  as  letters  of  their  language.  I 
shall  continually  endeavor  to  put  the  reader  into  such  sym¬ 
pathetic  temper,  when  I  ask  for  his  judgment  of  a  building ; 
and  in  every  wwk  I  may  bring  before  him  I  shall  point  out, 
as  far  as  I  am  able,  whatever  is  peculiar  in  its  expression ;  nay, 
I  must  even  depend  on  such  peculiarities  for  much  of  my  best 


38 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


evidence  respecting  tlie  cliarcacter  of  tlie  builders.  But  I  can¬ 
not  legalize  the  judgment  for  which  I  plead,  nor  insist  upon  it 
if  it  be  refused.  1  can  neither  force  the  reader  to  feel  this 
architectural  rhetoric,  nor  compel  him  to  confess  that  the 
rhetoric  is  powerful,  if  it  have  produced  no  imjDression  on  his 
own  mind. 

§  III.  I  leave,  therefore,  the  expression  of  buildings  for  in¬ 
cidental  notice  only.  But  their  other  two  virtues  are  proper 
subjects  of  law, — their  performance  of  their  common  and 
necessary  work,  and  their  conformity  with  universal  and 
divine  canons  of  lovelmess :  respecting  these  there  can  be  no 
dCubt,  no  ambiguity.  I  would  have  the  reader  discern  them 
so  cpiickly  that,  as  he  passes  along  a  street,  he  may,  by  a  glance 
of  the  eye,  distinguish  the  noble  from  the  ignoble  work.  He 
can  do  this,  if  he  permit  free  play  to  his  natural  instincts; 
and  all  that  I  have  to  do  for  him  is  to  remove  from  those 
instincts  the  artificial  restraints  which  prevent  their  action, 
and  to  encourao:e  them  to  an  unaffected  and  unbiassed  choice 
between  right  and  wrong. 

§  IV.  We  have,  then,  two  qualities  of  buildings  for  subjects 
of  separate  inquiry :  their  action,  and  aspect,  and  the  sources 
of  virtue  in  both ;  that  is  to  say.  Strength  and  Beauty,  both 
of  these  being  less  admired  in  themselves,  than  as  testifying 
the  intelligence  or  imagination  of  the  builder. 

For  we  have  a  worthier  Avay  of  looking  at  human  than  at 
divine  architecture:  much  of  the  value  both  of  construction 
and  decoration,  in  the  edifices  of  men,  depends  upon  our 
being  led  by  the  thing  produced  or  adorned,  to  some  contem¬ 
plation  of  the  powers  of  mind  concerned  in  its  creation  or 
adornment.  W e  are  not  so  led  by  divine  work,  but  are  con¬ 
tent  to  rest  in  the  contemplation  of  the  thing  created.  I  wish 
the  reader  to  note  this  especially  :  we  take  pleasure,  or  should 
take  pleasure,  in  architectural  construction  altogether  as  the 
manifestation  of  an  admirable  human  intelligence  ;  it  is  not 
the  strength,  not  the  size,  not  the  finish  of  the  work  wdiich 
we  are  to  venerate :  rocks  are  always  stronger,  mountains 
always  larger,  all  natural  objects  more  finished ;  but  it  is  the 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  AiiCHITECTUpE.  39 

intelligence  and  resolution  of  man  in  overcoming  physical 
difficulty  which  are  to  be  the  source  of  our  pleasure  and  sub¬ 
ject  of  our  praise.  And  again,  in  decoration  or  beauty,  it  is 
less  the  actual  loveliness  of  the  thing  produced,  than  the 
choice  and  invention  concerned  in  the  production,  which  are 
to  delight  us ;  the  love  and  the  thoughts  of  the  workman  more 
than  his  work :  his  work  must  always  be  imperfect,  but  his 
thoughts  and  affections  may  be  true  and  deep. 

§  V.  This  origin  of  our  pleasure  in  architecture  I  must  in¬ 
sist  upon  at  somewhat  gi-eater  length,  for  I  Avould  fain  do  away 
with  some  of  the  ungrateful  coldness  which  we  show  towards 
the  good  builders  of  old  time.  In  no  art  is  there  closer  con¬ 
nection  between  our  deliglit  in  the  work,  and  our  admiration 
of  the  workman’s  mind,  than  in  architecture,  and  yet  we  rarely 
ask  for  a  builder’s  name.  The  patron  at  whose  cost,  the  monk 
throuo'h  whose  dreaming,  the  foundation  was  laid,  we  remeni- 
ber  occasionally ;  never  the  man  who  verily  did  the  work. 
Did  the  reader  ever  hear  of  William  of  Sens  as  having  had 
anything  to  do  with  Canterbury  Cathedral?  or  of  Pietro 
Basegio  as  in  anywise  connected  with  the  Ducal  Palace  of 
Venice?  There  is  much  ingratitude  and  injustice  in  this; 
and  therefore  I  desire  my  reader  to  observe  carefully  how 
much  of  his  pleasure  in  building  is  derived,  or  should  be 
derived,  from  admiration  of  the  intellect  of  men  whose  names 
he  knows  not. 

§  VI.  The  two  virtues  of  architecture  which  we  can  justly 
weigh,  are,  we  said,  its  strength  or  good  construction,  and  its 
beauty  or  good  decoration.  Consider  first,  therefore,  what 
you  mean  when  you  say  a  building  is  well  constructed  or  well 
built ;  you  do  not  merely  mean  that  it  answers  its  purpose, — 
this  is  much,  and  many  modern  buildings  fail  of  this  much ; 
but  if  it  be  verily  well  built,  it  must  answer  this  purpose  in 
the  simplest  way,  and  with  no  over-expenditure  of  means. 
We  require  of  a  light-house,  for  instance,  that  it  shall  stand 
firm  and  carry  a  light ;  if  it  do  not  this,  assuredly  it  has  been 
ill  built  ;  but  it  may  do  it  to  the  end  of  time,  and  yet  not  be 
well  built.  It  may  have  hundreds  of  tons  of  stone  in  it  more 


40 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OE  ARCHITECTURE. 


than  were  needed,  and  liave  cost  thousands  of  pounds  more 
than  it  ought.  To  pronounce  it  well  or  ill  built,  we  must 
know  the  utmost  forces  it  can  have  to  resist,  and  the  best 
arrangements  of  stone  for  encountering  them,  and  the  (]uickest 
Avavs  of  effecting  such  arrangements  :  then  only,  so  far  ifs  such 
arrangements  have  been  chosen,  and  such  methods  used,  is  it 
well  built.  Then  the  knowledge  of  all  difficulties  to  be  met, 
and  of  all  means  of  meeting  them,  and  the  quick  and  true 
fancy  or  invention  of' the  modes  of  applying  the  means  to  the 
end,  are  what  we  have  to  admire  in  the  builder,  even  as  he  is 
seen  through  this  first  or  inferior  part  of  his  work.  ]\Iental 
power,  observe :  not  muscular  nor  mechanical,  nor  technical, 
nor  empirical, — pure,  precious,  majestic,  massy  intellect ;  not 
to  be  had  at  wilgar  price,  nor  received  without  thanks,  anl 
without  asking  from  whom. 

§  vii.  Suppose,  for  instance,  we  are  present  at  the  building 
of  a  bridge :  the  bricklayers  or  masons  have  had  their  cen¬ 
tring  erected  for  them,  and  that  centring  Avas  put  together 
by  a  carpenter,  who  had  the  line  of  its  curve  traced  for  him 
])y  the  architect :  the  masons  are  dexterously  handling  and 
fitting  their  bricks,  or,  by  the  help  of  machinery,  carefully 
adjusting  stones  w4iich  are  numbered  for  their  places.  There 
is  probably  in  their  quickness  of  eye  and  readiness  of  hand 
something  admirable ;  but  this  is  not  what  I  ask  the  reader 
to  admire:  not  the  carpenteiang,  nor  the  bricklaying,  nor 
anything  that  he  can  presently  see  and  understand,  but  the 
choice  of  the  curve,  and  the  shaping  of  the  numbered  stones, 
and  the  appointment  of  that  number ;  there  were  many  things 
to  be  knoAAm  and  thought  U])on  before  these  were  decided. 
The  man  Avho  chose  the  curve  and  numbered  the  stones,  had 
to  know  the  times  and  tides  of  the  river,  and  the  strength  of 
its  floods,  and  the  height  and  flow  of  them,  and  the  soil  of  the 
banks,  and  the  endurance  of  it,  and  the  weight  of  the  stones 
he  had  to  l)uild  Avith,  and  the  kind  of  traffic  that  day  by  day 
Avould  be  carried  on  OAmr  his  bridge, — all  this  specially,  and  all 
the  great  general  laAA's  of  force  and  AAmight,  and  their  Avorking; 
and  in  the  choice  of  the  curve  and  numbering  of  stones  are 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


41 


expressed  not  only  liis  knowledge  of  these,  but  such  ingenuity 
and  hrmness  as  he  had,  in  applying  special  means  to  overcome 
the  special  difficulties  about  his  bridge.  There  is  no  saying 
how  much  wit,  how  much  depth  of  thought,  how  much  fancy, 
presence  of  mind,  courage,  and  hxed  resolution  theie  may 
have  gone  to  the  placing  of  a  single  stone  of  it.  This  is  what 
w^e  have  to  admire, — this  grand  power  and  heart  of  man  in  ' 
the  thing ;  not  his  technical  or  empirical  way  of  holding  the 
trowel  and  laying  mortar. 

§  VIII.  blow  there  is  in  everything  properly  called  art  this 
concernment  of  the  intellect,,  even  in  the  province  of  the  ait 
which  seems  merely  practical.  For  observe ;  in  this  bridge¬ 
building  I  suppose  no  reference  to  architectural  pi  inciples  5 
all  that  I  suppose  we  want  is  to  get  safely  over  the  river ;  the 
man  who  has  taken  us  over  is  still  a  mere  bridge-builder,  a 
'builder^  not  an  architect :  he  may  bo  a  rough,  artless,  feeling- 
less  man,  incapable  of  doing  a,ny  one  truly  fine  thing  all  his 
days.  I  shall  call  upon  you  to  despise  him  presently  in  a  sort, 
but  not  as  if  he  were  a  mere  smoother  of  mortar  ;  perhaps  a 
ijreat  man,  infinite  in  memory,  indefatigable  in  labor,  exnaust- 
iess  in  expedient,  unsurpassable  in  quickness  of  thought. 
Take  good  heed  you  understand  him  before  you  despise  him. 

§  IX.  But  why  is  he  to  be  in  any^vise  despised  ?  By  no 
means  despise  him,  unless  he  happen  to  lie  without  a  soul, 
or  at  least  to  show  no  signs  of  it ;  wliich  possibly  he  may  not 
in  merely  carrying  you  across  the  river.  He  may  be  meiely 
what  Mr.  Carlyle  rightly  calls  a  human  beaver  after  all ;  and 
there  may  be  notliing  in  all  tho.t  ingenuity  of  his  greatei  than 
a  complication  of  animal  faculties,  an  intricate  bestiality,— nest 
pr  hive  building  in  its  highest  development.  1  ou  need  some¬ 
thing  more  than  this,  or  the  man  is  despicable  j  you  need  that 
virtue  of  building  through  which  he  may  show  his  affections 
and  delights ;  you  need  its  beauty  or  decoration. 

§  X.  Not  that,  in  reality,  one  division  of  the  man  is  more 
human  than  another.  Theologists  fall  into  this  error  very 


*  Appendix  14,  “  Divisions  of  Humanity.” 


42 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


fatally  and  continually  ;  and  a  man  from  whom  I  have  learned 
much,  Lord  Lindsay,  has  hurt  his  noble  book  by  it,  speaking; 
as  if  the  spirit  of  the  man  only  were  immortal,  and  were 
oppos:3d  to  his  intellect,  and  the  latter  to  the  senses ;  whereas 
all  the  divisions  of  humanity  are  noble  or  brutal,  immortal  or 
moifal,  according  to  the  degree  of  their  sanctification :  and 
there  is  no  part  of  the  man  which  is  not  immortal  and  divine 
when  it  is  once  given  to  God,  and  no  part  of  him  which  is 
not  mortal  by  the  second  death,  and  brutal  before  the  first, 
when  It  is  withdrawn  from  God.  For  to  wdiat  shall  we  trust 
for  onr  distinction  from  the  beasts  that  perish?  To  onr 
higher  intellect  ? — ^yet  are  we  not  bidden  to  be  wise  as  the 
serpent,  and  to  consider  the  ways  of  the  ant? — or  to  our 
affections  ?  nay ;  these  are  more  shared  by  the  lower  animals 
than  onr  intelligence.  Hamlet  leaps  into  the  grave  of  his 
beloved,  and  leaves  it, — a  dog  had  stayed.  Ilnmanity  and 
immortality  consist  neither  in  reason,  nor  in  love ;  not  in  the 
body,  nor  in  the  animation  of  the  heart  of  it,  nor  in  the 
thoughts  and  stirrings  of  the  brain  of  it, — but  in  the  dedica¬ 
tion  of  them  all  to  Him  who  will  raise  them  up  at  the  last 
day. 

§  XL.  It  is  not,  therefore,  that  the  signs  of  his  affections, 
which  man  leaves  upon  his  work,  are  indeed  more  ennobling 
than  the  signs  of  his  intelligence;  but  it  is  the  balance  of 
both  whose  expression  we  need,  and  the  signs  of  the  govern¬ 
ment  of  them  all  by  Conscience  ;  and  Discretion,  the  daughter 
of  Conscience.  So,  then,  the  intelligent  part  of  man  being 
eminently,  if  not  chiefly,  disjrlayed  in  the  structure  of  his 
work,  his  affectionate  part  is  to  be  shown  in  its  decoration ; 
and,  that  decoration  may  be  indeed  lovely,  two  things  are 
needed :  first,  that  the  affections  be  vivid,  and  honestly  shown  ; 
secondly,  that  they  be  fixed  on  the  right  things. 

§  XII.  Yon  think,  perhaps,  I  have  put  the  requirements  in 
wrong  order.  Logically  I  have ;  practically  I  have  not ;  for 
it  is  necessary  first  to  teach  men  to  speak  out,  and  say  what 
they  like,  truly ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  to  teach  them 
which  of  their  likings  are  ill  set,  and  -which  justly.  If  a  man 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


43 


is  cold  in  his  likings  and  dislikings,  or  if  he  will  not  tell  you 
what  he  likes,  you  can  make  nothing  of  him.  Only  get  liim 
to  feel  quickly  and  to  speak  plainly,  and  you  may  set  him 
right.  And  the  fact  is,  that  the  great  evil  of  all  recent 
ai'chitectural  effort  has  not  been  that  men  liked  wroim  thin2;s  : 
but  that  they  either  cared  nothing  about  any,  or  2:>retended 
to  like  what  they  did  not.  Do  you  suppose  that  any  modern 
architect  likes  what  he  builds,  or  enjoys  it  ?  ISTot  in  the  least, 
lie  builds  it  because  he  has  been  told  that  such  and  such 
things  arc  fine,  and  that  he  should  like  them.  He  pretends 
to  like  them,  and  gives  them  a  false  relish  of  vanity.  Do  you 
seriously  imagine,  reader,  that  any  living  soul  in  London  likes 
triglyphs  ?  — or  gets  any  hearty  enjoyment  out  of  pedi¬ 

ments  ?t  You  are  much  mistaken.  Greeks  did:  Eimlish 
people  never  did, — never  will.  Do  you  fancy  that  the  archi¬ 
tect  of  old  Burlington  Mews,  in  Eegent  Street,  had  any 
particular  satisfaction  in  putting  tlie  blank  triangle  over  the 
archway,  instead  of  a  useful  garret  window  ?  By  no  manner 
of  means.  lie  had  been  told  it  was  right  to  do  so,  and 
thought  lie  should  be  admired  for  doing  it.  Yery  few  faults 
of  architecture  are  mistakes  of  honest  choice  :  tliey  are  almost 
always  hypocrisies. 

§  XIII.  So,  then,  the  first  thing  we  have  to  ask  of  the  dec¬ 
oration  is  that  it  should  indicate  strong  liking,  and  that 
honestly.  It  matters  not  so  much  what  the  thing  is,  as  that 
the  builder  should  really  love  it  and  enjoy  it,  and  say  so 
plainly.  The  architect  of  Bourges  Cathedral  liked  hawthorns ; 
so  he  has  covered  his  porch  with  hawthorn, — it  is  a  perfect 
Hiobe  of  May.  Never  was  such  ha’^vthorn ;  you  would  try 
to  gather  it  forthwith,  but  for  fear  of  being  pricked.  The 
old  Lombard  architects  liked  hunting ;  so  they  covered  their 
work  with  horses  and  hounds,  and  men  blowing  trumpets  two 

*  Triglypli.  Literally,  “Three  Cut.”  The  awkwara  upright  ornament 
with  two  notches  in  it,  and  a  cut  at  each  side,  to  be  seen  everywhere  at  the 
tops  of  Doric  colonnades,  ancient  and  modern. 

f  Pediment.  The  triangular  space  above  Greek  porticos,  as  on  the 
Mansion  House  or  Royal  Exchange. 


44 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTUEE. 


^ards  lonjr.  Tlie  base  Eenaissance  arcliitects  of  Yenice  liked 
masquing  and  fiddling;  so  tliej  covered  their  work  with 
comic  masks  and  musical  instmineiits.  Even  that  was  better 
than  our  English  way  of  liking  nothing,  and  professing  to  like 
triglyphs. 

§  XIV.  But  the  second  requirement  in  decoration,  is  a  sign 
of  our  liking  the  right  thing.  And  the  right  thing  to  he  liked 
is  God’s  work,  which  He  made  for  our  delight  and  content¬ 
ment  in  this  world.  And  all  nolfie  ornamentatiou  is  the  ex¬ 
pression  of  man’s  delight  in  God’s  work. 

§  XV.  So,  then,  these  are  the  two  virtues  of  building :  first, 
the  signs  of  man’s  own  good  work ;  secondly,  the  expression 
of  man’s  delight  in  better  work  than  his  own.  And  these  are 
the  two  virtues  of  which  I  desire  my  reader  to  be  able  quickly 
to  judge,  at  least  in  some  measure ;  to  have  a  definite  opinion 
up  to  a  certain  point.  Beyond  a  certain  point  he  cannot  form 
one.  When  the  science  of  the  building  is  great,  great  science 
is  of  course  required  to  comprehend  it ;  and,  therefore,  of  diffi¬ 
cult  bridges,  and  light-houses,  and  harbor  walls,  and  river 
dykes,  and  railway  tunnels,  no  judgment  may  be  rapidly 
formed.  But  of  common  buildings,  built  in  common  circum¬ 
stances,  it  is  very  possible  for  every  man,  or  woman,  or  child, 
to  form  judgment  both  rational  and  rapid.  Their  necessary, 
or  even  possible,  features  are  but  few ;  the  laws  of  their  con¬ 
struction  are  as  simple  as  they  are  interesting.  The  labor  of 
a  few  hours  is  enough  to  render  the  reader  master  of  their 
main  points ;  and  from  that  moment  he  will  find  in  himself  a 
power  of  judgment  which  can  neither  lie  escaped  nor  deceived, 
and  discover  subjects  of  interest  where  everything  before  had 
appeared  barren.  For  though  the  laws  are  few  and  simple, 
the  modes  of  obedience  to  tliem  are  not  so.  Every  building 
presents  its  own  requirements  and  difficulties ;  and  every  good 
building  has  peculiar  appliances  or  contrivances  to  meet  them. 
Understand  the  laws  of  structure,  and  you  will  feel  the  special 
difficulty  in  every  new  luiilding  which  you  approach ;  and  you 
will  know  also,  or  feel  instinctively,*  whether  it  has  been 
*  Appendix  15:  “  Instinctive  Judgments.” 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


45 


wisely  met  or  otherwise.  And  an  enormous  number  of  build¬ 
ings,  and  of  styles  of  buildings,  you  will  be  able  to  cast  aside 
at  once,  as  at  variance  with  these  constant  laws  of  structure, 
and  tberet'ore  unnatural  and  monstrous. 

§  XVI.  Then,  as  regards  decoration,  I  want  you  only  to 
consult  your  own  natural  choice  and  liking.  There  is  a  right 
and  wrong  in  it ;  hut  you  will  assuredly  like  the  right  if  you 
sutler  your  natural  instinct  to  lead  you.  Half  the  evil  in  this 
world  comes  from  people  not  knovdiig  what  they  do  like,  not 
deliberately  setting  themselves  to  find  out  what  they  ^really 
enjoy.  All  people  enjoy  giving  away  money,  for  instance ; 
they  don’t  know  — ll^^y  mther  think  they  like  keeping  it; 

and  they  do  keep  it  under  this  false  impression,  often  to  their 
great  discomfort.  Every  body  likes  to  do  good ;  hut  not  one 
in  a  hundred  tinds  this  out.  Multitudes  think  they  like  to  do 
evil ;  yet  no  man  ever  really  enjoyed  doing  evil  since  God 
made  the  world. 

So  in  this  lesser  matter  of  ornament.  It  needs  some  little 
care  to  try  experiments  upon  yourself :  it  needs  deliberate 
question  and  upright  answer.  But  there  is  no  difficulty  to  be 
overcome,  no  abstruse  reasoning  to  be  gone  into ;  only  a  little 
watchfulness  needed,  and  thoughtfulness,  and  so  much  honesty 
as  will  enable  you  to  confess  to  yourself  and  to  all  men,  that 
you  enjoy  things,  though  great  authorities  say  you  should  not. 

§  XVII.  This  looks  somewhat  like  pride ;  but  it  is  true  hu¬ 
mility,  a  trust  that  you  have  been  so  created  as  to  enjoy  wdiat 
is  litting  for  you,  and  a  willingness  to  be  pleased,  as  it  was 
intended  jmu  shoul  1  be.  It  is  the  child’s  spirit,  which  we  are 
then  most  happy  when  we  most  recover ;  only  wiser  than 
children  in  that  we  arc  ready  to  think  it  subject  of  thankful¬ 
ness  that  we  can  still  bo  jdeased  with  a  fair  color  or  a  dancing 
light.  And,  above  all,  do  not  try  to  make  all  these  pleasures 
reasonable,  nor  to  connect  the  delight  which  you  take  in  orna¬ 
ment  with  that  which  you  take  in  construction  or  usefulness. 
They  have  no  connection ;  and  ev^ery  effort  that  you  make  to 
reason  from  one  to  the  other  will  blunt  your  sense  of  beauty, 
or  confuse  it  with  sensations  altogether  inferior  to  it.  T  ou 


46 


II.  THE  VIRTUES  OF  ARCniTECTUEE. 


were  made  for  enjoyment,  and  the  world  was  tilled  with  things 
which  you  will  enjoy,  unless  you  are  too  proud  to  be  pleased 
by  them,  or  too  grasping  to  care  for  what  you  cannot  turn  to 
other  account  than  mere  delight.  Remember  that  the  most 
beautiful  things  in  the  world  are  the  most  useless ;  peacocks 
and  lilies  for  instance ;  at  least  I  suppose  this  cpiill  I  hold  in 
my  hand  writes  better  than  a  peacock’s  would,  and  the  peas¬ 
ants  of  Yevay,  whose  fields  in  spring  time  are  as  white  with 
lilies  as  the  Dent  du  Midi  is  with  its  snow,  told  me  the  hay 
was  none  the  better  for  them. 

§  XVIII.  Our  task  therefore  divides  itself  into  two  branches, 
and  these  I  shall  follow  in  succession.  I  shall  first  consider 
the  constraction  of  buildings,  dividing  them  into  their  really 
necessary  members  or  features ;  and  I  shall  endeavor  so  to 
lead  the  reader  forward  from  the  foundation  upwards,  as  that 
he  may  find  out  for  himself  the  best  way  of  doing  everything, 
and  having  so  discovered  it,  never  forget  it.  I  shall  give  him 
stones,  and  bricks,  and  straw,  chisels,  and  trowels,  and  the 
ground,  and  then  ask  him  to  build ;  only  helping  him,  as  I  can, 
if  I  find  liim  puzzled.  And  when  he  has  built  his  house  or 
church,  I  shall  ask  him  to  ornament  it,  and  leave  it  to  him  to 
choose  the  ornaments  as  I  did  to  find  out  the  constniction ;  I 
shall  use  no  influence  %vith  him  whatever,  except  to  counter¬ 
act  previous  prejudices,  and  leave  him,  as  far  as  may  be,  free. 
And  when  ho  has  thus  found  out  how  to  build,  and  chosen  his 
forms  of  decoration,  I  shall  do  what  I  can  to  confirm  his  con¬ 
fidence  in  what  he  has  done.  I  shall  assure  him  that  no  one 
in  the  world  could,  so  far,  have  done  better,  and  require  him 
to  condemn,  as  futile  or  fallacious,  whatever  has  no  resem¬ 
blance  to  his  OAWi  performances. 


CHAPTER  HI. 


THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  AKCHITECTUEE. 

§  I.  The  practical  duties  of  buildings  are  twofold. 

They  have  either  (1),  to  hold  and  protect  something ;  or 
(2),  to  place  or  carry  something. 

1.  Architecture  of  Protection.  This  is  architecture  intended 

to  protect  men  or  their  possessions  from  violence  of 
any  kind,  whether  of  men  or  of  the  elements.  It  will 
include  all  churches,  houses,  and  treasuries ;  fortresses, 
fences,  and  ramparts ;  the  architecture  of  the  hut  and 
sheepfold ;  of  the  palace  and  the  citadel :  of  the  dyke, 
breakwater,  and  sea-wall.  And  the  protection,  when 
of  living  creatures,  is  to  be  understood  as  including 
commodiousness  and  comfort  of  habitation,  wherever 
these  are  possible  under  the  given  circumstances. 

2.  Architecture  of  Position.  This  is  architecture  intended 

to  carry  men  or  things  to  some  certain  places,  or  to 
hold  them  there.  This  will  include  all  bridges,  aque¬ 
ducts,  and  road  architecture ;  light-houses,  which  have 
to  hold  light  in  appointed  places ;  chimneys  to  carry  r 
smoke  or  direct  currents  of  air ;  staircases ;  towers, 
which  are  to  bo  watched  from  or  cried  from,  as  in 
mosques,  or  to  hold  bells,  or  to  place  men  in  positions 
of  offence,  as  ancient  moveable  attacking  towers,  and 
most  fortress  toAvers. 

§  II.  Protective  architecture  has  to  do  one  or  all  of  three 
things :  to  wall  a  space,  to  roof  it,  and  to  give  access  to  it,  of 


48 


III.  THE  SIX  DIYISIOXS  OF  AllCHITECTUKE. 


persons,  liglit,  and  air;  and  it  is  tliei’efore  to  be  considered 
under  the  three  divisions  of  walls,  roofs,  and  apertures. 

We  will  take,  first,  a  short,  general  view  of  the  connection 
of  these  members,  and  then  examine  them  in  detail :  endeav¬ 
oring  always  to  keep  the  simplicity  of  our  first  arrangement 
in  view;  for  protective  architecture  has  indeed  no  other  mem¬ 
bers  than  these,  unless  flooring  and  jiaving  be  considered ' 
architecture,  which  it  is  only  when  the  flooring  is  also  a  roof ; 
the  laying  of  the  stones  or  timbers  for  footing  being  pavior’s 
or  carpenter’s  work,  rather  than  architect’s ;  and,  at  all  events, 
work  respecting  the  well  or  ill  doing  of  which  we  shall  hardly 
find  much  difference  of  opinion,  except  in  points  of  aesthetics. 
AVe  shall  therefore  concern  ourselves  only  with  the  construction 
of  walls,  roofs,  and  apertures. 

§  III.  1.  Walls. — A  wall  is  an  even  and  united  fence, 
whether  of  wood,  earth,  stone,  or  metal.  When  meant  for 
juirposes  of  pnere  partition  or  enclosure,  it  remains  a  wall 
proper :  but  it  has  generally  also  to  sustain  a  certain  vertical 
or  lateral  pressure,  for  which  its  strength  is  at  first  increased 
by  some  general  addition  to  its  thickness ;  but  if  the  pressure 
becomes  very  great,  it  is  gathered  up  into  piers  to  resist  ver¬ 
tical  pressure,  and  supported  by  huttresses  to  resist  lateral 
pressure. 

If  its  functions  of  partition  or  enclosure  are  continued,  to- 
gether  with  that  of  resisting  vertical  pressure,  it  remains  as  a 
wall  veil  between  the  piers  into  which  it  has  been  partly  gath¬ 
ered  ;  but  if  it  is  required  only  to  resist  the  vertical  or  roof 
pressure,  it  is  gathered  up  into  piers  altogether,  loses  its  wall 
character,  and  becomes  a  group  or  line  of  piers. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  lateral  pressure  be  slight,  it  may 
retain  its  character  of  a  wall,  being  supported  against  the 
pressure  by  buttresses  at  intervals ;  but  if  the  lateral  pressure 
be  very  great,  it  is  supported  against  such  pressure  by  a  con¬ 
tinuous  buttress,  loses  its  wall  charactei',  and  becomes  a  dyke 
or  rampart. 

§  IV.  We  shall  have  therefore  (A)  first  to  get  a  general  idea 
of  a  wall,  and  of  right  construction  of  walls ;  then  (B)'to  see 


III.  THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  AKCniTECTUKE. 


49 


low  this  wall  is  gathered  into  piers ;  and  to  get  a  general  idea 
piers  and  the  right  construction  of  piers ;  then  (C)  to  see 
iiow  a  wall  is  supported  by  buttresses,  and  to  get  a  general  idea 
di  buttresses  and  the  right  constniction  of  buttresses.  This  is 
mrely  very  simple,  and  it  is  all  we  shall  have  to  do  with  walls 
md  their  divisions. 

§  V.  2.  Roofs. — rA  roof  is  the  covering  of  a  space,  narrow 
or  wide.  It  will  be  most  conveniently  studied  by  first  con¬ 
sidering  the  forms  in  which  it  may  bo  carried  over  a  ivarrow 


Fig.  I. 


fc  c  d' 


space,  and  then  expanding  these  on  a  wide  plan ;  only  there 
is  some  difficulty  here  in  the  nomenclature,  for  an  arched  roof 
over  a  narrow  space  has  (I  believe)  no  name,  except  that 
which  belongs  properly  to  the  piece  of  stone  or  wood  compos¬ 
ing  such  a  roof,  namely,  lintel.  But  the  reader  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  understanding  that  he  is  first  to  consider  roofs  on 
tlie  section  only,  thinking  how  best  to  construct  a  narrow  bar 
or  slice  of* them,  of  whatever  form;  as,  for  instance,  a?,  y,  or 
2,  over  the  plan  or  area  a,  Fig.  I.  Having  done  this,  let  him 


50 


III.  THE  SIX  DIVISIONS  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 


imagine  these  several  divisions,  first  moved  along  (or  set  side 
bj  side)  over  a  rectangle,  Z*,  Fig.  I.,  and  then  revolved  round  a 
point  (or  crossed  at  it)  over  a  polygon,  c,  or  circle,  f/,  and  lie  Avill 
have  every  form  of  simple  roof :  the  arched  section  giving  suc¬ 
cessively  the  vaulted  roof  and  dome,  and  the  gabled  section 
giving  the  gabled  roof  and  spire. 

As  we  go  farther  into  the  subject,  we  shall  only  have  to 
add  one  or  two  forms  to  the  sections  here  given,  in  order  to 
embrace  all  the  uncomhined  roofs  in  existence ;  and  we  shall 
not  trouble  the  reader  Avith  many  questions  respecting  cross- 
A'aultinsr,  and  other  modes  of  their  combination. 

§  AH.  Noav,  it  also  happens,  from  its  place  in  buildings,  that 
the  sectional  roof  OAmr  a  narroAV  space  aahII  need  to  be  consid¬ 
ered  before  wo.  come  to  the  expanded  roof  over  a  broad  one. 
For  when  a  wall  has  been  gathered,  as  aboA*e  explained,  into 
piers,  that  it  may  better  bear  vertical  pressure,  it  is  generally 
necessary  that  it  should  be  expanded  again  at  the  toj)  into  a 
continuous  Avail  before  it  carries  the  true  roof.  Arches  or 
hntels  are,  therefore,  throA\m  from  pier  to  pier,  and  a  level 
preparation  for  carrying  the  real  roof  is  made  aliove  them. 
After  Ave  have  examined  the  structure  of  piers,  therefore,  we 
shall  have  to  see  hoAV  lintels  or  arches  are  throAvn  from  pier  to 
pier,  and  the  AA'hole  prepared  for  the  superincumbent  roof ;  this 
arrangement  being  uniAmrsal  in  all  good  architecture  prepared 
for  Amrtical  pressures  :  and  Ave  shall  then  examine  the  condition 
of  the  great  roof  itself.  And  because  the  structure  of  the 
roof  A^ery  often  introduces  certain  lateral  pressures  Avhich  have 
much  to  do  Avith  the  placing  of  buttresses,  it  will  be  well  to  do 
all  this  before  Ave  examine  the  nature  of  buttresses,  and,  there¬ 
fore,  between  parts  (B)  and  (C)  of  the  above  plan,  §  ia^  So 
noAv  we  shall  have  to  study :  (A)  the  construction  of  Avails ; 
(B)  that  of  piers;  (C)  that  of  lintels  or  arches  prepared  for 
roofing ;  (B)  that  of  roofs  proper ;  and  (E)  that  of  buttresses. 

§  VII.  8.  Apertures. — There  must  either  be  intervals  be¬ 
tween  the  piers,  of  Avhich  inteiwals  the  character  Avill  be  deter¬ 
mined  by  that  of  the  piei*s  themselves,  or  else  doors  or  Avin- 
doAA’B  in  the  walls  proper.  And,  respecting  doors  or  windows. 


III.  THE  SIX  DIYISIOXS  OF  ARCHITECTUEE. 


51 


we  have  to  determine  three  things :  first,  the  proper  shape  of 
the  entire  aperture ;  secondly,  the  way  in  which  it  is  to  be 
filled  with  valves  or  glass  ;  and  thirdly,  the  modes  of  protect¬ 
ing  it  on  the  outside,  and  fitting  appliances  of  convenience  to 
it,  as  porches  or  balconies.  And  this  will  be  our  division  F  ; 
and  if  the  reader  will  have  the  patience  to  go  through  these 
six  heads,  which  include  every  possible  feature  of  protective 
architecture,  and  to  consider  the  simple  necessities  and  fit¬ 
nesses  of  each,  I  will  answer  for  it,  he  shall  never  confound 
good  architecture  with  bad  any  more.  For,  as  to  architec¬ 
ture  of  position,  a  great  part  of  it  involves  necessities  of  con¬ 
struction  with  which  the  spectator  cannot  become  generally 
acquainted,  and  of  the  compliance  with  which  he  is  therefore 
never  expected  to  judge, — as  in  chimneys,  light-houses.  &c. : 
and  the  other  forms  of  it  are  so  closely  connected  with  those 
of  protective  architecture,  that  a  few  words  in  Chap.  XIX.  re¬ 
specting  staircases  and  towers,  will  contain  all  with  which  the 
reader  need  be  troubled  on  the  subject. 


CIIAPTEK  ly. 


THE  AVALL  BASE. 

§  I.  Our  first  business,  then,  is  with  Wall,  and  to  find  out 
wherein  lies  the  true  excellence  of  the  “Wittiest  Partition,” 
For  it  is  rather  strange  that,  often  as  we  speak  of  a  “dead” 
wall,  and  that  with  considerable  disgust,  we  have  not  often, 
since  Snout’s  time,  heard  of  a  living  one.  But  the  common 
epithet  of  opprobrium  is  justly  bestowed,  and  marks  a  right 
feeling.  A  wall  has  no  business  to  be  dead.  It  ought  to  have 
members  in  its  make,  and  purj^oses  in  its  existence,  like  an  or¬ 
ganized  creature,  and  to  answer  its  ends  in  a  living  and  ener¬ 
getic  Avay ;  and  it  is  only  when  we  do  not  choose  to  put  any 
strength  nor  organization  into  it,  that  it  offends  us  by  its  dead¬ 
ness.  Every  wall  ought  to  be  a  “  SAveet  and  lovely  AA'all.”  I 
do  not  care  about  its  liaAung  ears ;  but,  for  instruction  and  ex¬ 
hortation,  I  Avould  often  have  it  to  “  hold  up  its  fingers.”  What 
its  necessary  members  and  excellences  are,  it  is  our  present 
business  to  discover. 

§  II.  A  AAaill  has  been  defined  to  be  an  even  and  united 
fence  of  wood,  earth,  stone,  or  metal.  Metal  fences,  lioAveA’cr, 
seldom,  if  ever,  take  the  form  of  Avails,  but  of  railings ;  and, 
like  all  other  metal  constructions,  must  be  left  out  of  our 
present  investigation  ;  as  may  be  also  AA'alls  composed  merely 
of  light  planks  or  laths  for  purposes  of  partition  or  inclosure. 
Substantial  Avails,  Avhether  of  Avood  or  earth  (I  use  the  AAmrd 
earth  as  including  clay,  baked  or  unbaked,  and  stone),  liaA^e, 
in  their  perfect  form,  three  distinct  members ; — the  Founda¬ 
tion,  Body  or  Veil,  and  Cornice. 

§  III.  The  foundation  is  to  the  aaMI  AAdiat  the  paAV  is  to  an 


IV.  THE  WALL  BASE. 


53 


animal.  It  is  a  long  foot,  wider  than  the  wall,  on  which  the 
wall  is  to  stand,  and  which  keeps  it  from  settling  into  the 
ground.  It  is  most  necessary  that  this  great  element  of 
security  should  be  visible  to  the  eye,  and  tlierefore  made  a 
paid  of  the  structure  above  ground.  Sometimes,  indeed,  it 
becomes  incorporated  with  the  entire  foundation  of  the  build 
ing,  a  vast  table  on  which  walls  or  piers  are  alike  set ;  but 
even  thei*,  the  eye,  taught  by  the  reason,  requires  some  ad¬ 
ditional  preparation  or  foot  for  the  wall,  and  the  building  is 
felt  to  be  imperfect  without  it.  This  foundation  we  shall  call 
the  Base  of  the  wall. 

§  IV.  The  body  of  the  wall  is  of  course  the  principal  mass 
of  it,  formed  of  mud  or  clay,  of  bricks  or  stones,  of  logs  or 
hewn  timber ;  the  condition  of  structure  being,  that  it  is  of 
equal  thickness  everywhere,  below  and  above.  It  may  be 
half  a  foot  thick,  or  six  feet  thick,  or  fifty  feet  thick ;  but  if 
of  equal  thickness  everywliere,  it  is  still  a  wall  proper :  if  to 
its  fifty  feet  of  proper  thickness  there  be  added  so  much  as 
an  inch  of  thickness  in  particular  parts,  that  added  thickness 
is  to  be  considered  as  some  form  of  buttress  or  pier,  or  other 
appliance.* 

In  perfect  architecture,  however,  the  walls  are  generally 
kept  of  moderate  thickness,  and  strengthened  by  piers  or 
buttresses ;  and  the  part  of  the  wall  between  these,  being 
generally  intended  only  to  secure  privacy,  or  keeji  out  the 
slighter  forces  of  weather,  may  be  properly  called  a  Wall 
Veil.  I  shall  always  use  this  word  “  Veil  ”  to  signify  the  even 
portion  of  a  wall,  it  being  more  expressive  than  the  term 
Body. 

§  V.  When  the  materials  with  which  this  veil  is  built  are 
very  loose,  or  of  shapes  which  do  not  fit  well  together,  it 
sometimes  becomes  necessary,  or  at  least  adds  to  security,  to 

*  Many  walls  are  slightly  sloped  or  curved  towards  their  tops,  and  have 
buttresses  added  to  them  (that  of  the  Queen’s  Bench  Prison  is  a  curious 
instance  of  the  vertical  buttress  and  inclined  wall);  but  in  all  such  instances 
the  slope  of  the  wall  is  properly  to  be  considered  a  condition  of  incorporated 
buttress. 


54 


IV.  THE  WALL  BASE. 


introduce  courses  of  more  solid  material.  Thus,  bricks 
alternate  with  rolled  pebbles  in  the  old  walls  of  Verona,  and 
hewn  stones  with  brick  in  its  Lombard  churches.  A  banded 
structure,  almost  a  stratification  of  the  wall,  is  thus  produced ; 
and  the  courses  of  more  solid  material  are  sometimes  deco¬ 
rated  with  carving.  E\^en  when  the  wall  is  not  thus  banded 
through  its  whole  height,  it  frequently  becomes  expedient  to' 
lay  a  course  of  stone,  or  at  least  of  more  carefully  chosen 
materials,  at  regular  heights  |  and  such  belts  or  bands  we  may 
call  String  courses.  These  are  a  kind  of  epochs  in  the  wall’s 
existence  5  something  like  periods  of  rest  and  reflection  in  human 
life,  before  entering  on  a  new  career.  Or  else,  in  the  building, 
they  correspond  to  the  divisions  of  its  stories  within,  express  its 
internal  structure,  and  mark  off  some  portion  of  the  ends  of 
its  existence  already  attained. 

§  VI.  Finally,  on  the  toji  of  the  wall  some  jirotection  from 
the  weather  is  necessary,  or  some  preparation  for  the  recep¬ 
tion  of  superincumbent  weight,  called  a  coping,  or  Cornice. 

I  shall  use  the  word  Cornice  for  both  ;  for,  in  fact,  a  coping 
is  a  loof  to  the  wall  itself,  and  is  carried  by  a  small  cornice 
as  the  roof  of  the  building  by  a  large  one.  In  either  case,  the 
cornice,  small  or  large,  is  the  termination  of  the  wall’s  existence, 
the  accomplishment  of  its  work.  When  it  is  meant  to  carry 
some  superincumbent  weight,  the  cornice  may  be  considered  as 
its  hand,  opened  to  carry  something  above  its  head  ;  as  the  base 
was  considered  its  foot :  and  the  three  parts  should  grow  out 

of  each  other  and  form  one  whole,  like  the  root,  stalk,  and  bell 
of  a  flower. 

These  three  parts  we  shall  examine  in  succession  :  and,  first, 
the  Base. 

§  yi.  It  may  be  sometimes  in  our  power,  and  it  is  always 
expedient,  to  prepare  for  the  whole  building  some  settled 
foundation,  level  and  Arm,  out  of  sight.  But  this  has  not 
been  done  m  some  of  the  noblest  buildings  in  existence.  It 
cannot  always  be  done  perfectly,  except  at  enormous  expense  ; 
and,  m  reasoning  upon  the  superstructure,  we  shall  never 
suj^pose  It  to  be  done.  The  mind  of  the  spectator  does  not 


IV.  THE  WALL  BASE. 


55 


conceive  it ;  and  lie  estimates  the  merits  of  the  edifice  on  the 
supposition  of  its  being  built  upon  the  ground.  Even  if  there 
be  a  vast  table  land  of  foundation  elevated  for  the  whole  of 
it,  accessible  by  steps  all  round,  as  at  Pisa,  the  surface  of  this 
table  is  always  conceived  -as  capable  of  yielding  somewhat  to 
superincumbent  weight,  and  generally  is  so  ;  and  we  shall 
base  all  our  arguments  on  the  widest  possible  supposition, 
that  is  to  say,  that  the  building  stands  on  a  surface  either  of 
earth,  or,  at  all  events,  capable  of  yielding  in  some  degree  to 
its  weight. 

§  VIII.  Now,  let  the  reader  simply  ask  himself  how,  on 
such  a  surface,  he  would 
set  about  building  a  sub¬ 
stantial  wall,  that  should  be 
able  to  bear  weight  and  to 
stand  for  ages.  He  would 
assuredly  look  about  for  the 
largest  stones  he  had  at 

O 

his  disposal,  and,  rudely  lev¬ 
elling  the  ground,  he  would 
lay  these  well  together  over 
a  considerably  larger  width 
than  he  required  the  wall  to 
be  (suppose  as  at  <2,  Fig.  IT.), 
in  order  to  equalise  the  pressure  of  the  wall  over  a  large  sur¬ 
face,  and  form  its  foot.  On  the  top  of  these  he  would  perhaps 
lay  a  second  tier  of  large  stones,  or  even  the  third,  c,  making 
the  breadth  somewhat  less  each  time,  so  as  to  prepare  for  the 
pressure  of  the  wall  on  the  centre,  and,  naturally  or  neces- 
sarilv,  using  somewhat  smaller  stones  above  than  below  (since 
we  supposed  him  to  look  about  for  the  largest  first),  and 
cutting  them  more  neatly.  His  third  tier,  if  not  his  second, 
will  probably  appear  a  sufficiently  secure  foundation  for  finer 
work  ;  for  if  the  earth  yield  at  all,  it  will  probably  yield  pretty 
equally  under  the  great  mass  of  masonry  now  knit  together 
over  it.  So  he  will  prepare  for  the  wall  itself  at  once  by 
sloping  off  the  next  tier  of  stones  to  the  riglit  diameter,  as 


Fif?.  II. 


56 


IV.  THE  WALL  BASE. 


at  d.  If  there  be  any  joints  in  this  tier  within  the  wall,  he 
may  perhaps,  for  further  secui’ity,  lay  a  binding  stone  across 
tliem,  e,  and  then  begin  the  work  of  the  wall  veil  itself, 
whether  in  bricks  or  stones. 

§  IX.  I  have  sujiposed  the  preparation  here  to  be  for  a  large 
vail,  because  such  a  preparation  will  give  us  the  best  general 
type.  But  it  is  evident  that  the  essential  features  of  the  ar¬ 
rangement  are  only  tw’^o,  that  is  to  say,  one  tier  of  massy  work 
for  foundation,  suppose  c,  missing  the  first  two ;  and  the  reced¬ 
ing  tier  or  real  foot  of  the  wall,  d.  The  reader  will  find  these 
members,  though  only  of  brick,  in  most  of  the  considerable 
and  independent  w^alls  in  the  suburbs  of  London. 

§  X.  It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  general  type.  Fig.  II., 
V  ill  be  subject  to  many  different  modihcations  in  different 
circumstances.  Sometimes  the  ledges  of  the  tiers  a  and  h 
may  be  of  greater  width;  and  when  the  building  is  in  a 
secure  place,  and  of  finished  masonry,  these  may  be  sloped 
off  also  like  the  main  foot  d.  In  Venetian  buildings  these 
lower  ledges  are  exposed  to  the  sea,  and  therefore  left  rough 
hewn  ;  but  in  fine  work  and  in  important  positions  the  lower 
ledges  may  be  bevelled  and  decorated  like  the  upper,  or 
another  added  above  d;  and  all  these  parts  may  be  in 
different  proportions,  according  to  the  disposition  of  the 
building  above  them.  But  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  any 
of  these  variations  at  iiresent,  they  being  all  more  or  less 
dependent  upon  decorative  considerations,  except  only  one  of 
very  great  importance,  that  is  to  say,  the  widening  of  the 
lovei  ledge  into  a  stone  seat,  which  maybe  often  done  in 
buildings  of  groat  size  with  most  beautiful  effect:  it  looks 
kind  and  hospitable,  and  preserves  the  work  above  from 
iolence.  In  St.  Mark’s  at  Venice,  which  is  a  small  and  low 
church,  and  needing  no  great  foundation  for  the  wall  veils 
of  it,  we  find  only  the  three  members,  I,  c,  and  d.  Of  these 
the  first  rises  about  a  foot  above  the  jiavenient  of  St.  Mark’s 
Blace,  and  forms  an  elevated  dais  in  some  of  the  recesses  of 
the  porches,  chequered  red  and  white  ;  c  forms  a  seat  which 
follows  the  line  of  the  walls,  while  its  basic  character  is 


IT.  THE  WALL  BASE. 


57 


marked  by  its  also  carrying  certain  shafts  with  which  we 
have  here  no  concern  ;  6?  is  of  white  marble  ;  and  all  are 
enriched  and  decorated  in  the  simplest  and  most  perfect 
manner  possible,  as  we  shall  see  in  Chap.  XXY.  And  thus 
mucli  may  serve  to  fix  the  type  of  wall  bases,  a  type  oftener 
followed  in  real  practice  than  any  other  we  shall  hereafter  be 
enabled  to  determine :  for  wall  bases  of  necessity  must  be 
solidly  built,  and  the  architect  is  therefore  driven  into  the 
adoption  of  the  right  form  ;  or  if  he  de\date  from  it,  it  is 
generally  in  meeting  some  necessity  of  peculiar  circumstances, 
as  in  obtaining  cellars  and  underground  room,  or  in  preparing 
for  some  grand  features  or  particular  parts  of  the  ■wall,  or  in 
some  mistaken  idea  of  decoration, — into  which  errors  we  had 
better  not  pursue  him  until  we  understand  something  more 
of  the  rest  of  the  building :  let  us  therefore  proceed  to  consider 
the  wall  veil. 


CHAPTER  Y. 


THE  WALL  VEIL. 

§  I.  The  summer  of  tlie  year  1849  was  spent  by  the  writer 
in  researches  little  bearing  upon  liis  present  subject,  and 
connected  chiefly  with  proposed  illustrations  of  the  mountain 
forms  in  the  works  of  J.  M.  W.  Turner.  But  there  are  some¬ 
times  more  valuable  lessons  to  be  learned  in  the  school  of 
nature  than  in  that  of  Vitruvius,  and  a  fragment  of  building 
among  the  Alps  is  singularly  illustrative  of  the  chief  feature 
which  I  have  at  present  to  develope  as  necessary  to  the 
perfection  of  the  wall  veil. 

It  is  a  fragment  of  some  size  ;  a  group  of  broken  walls,  one 
of  them  overhanging ;  crowned  with  a  cornice,  nodding  some 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  over  its  massy  flank,  three  thousand 
above  its  glacier  base,  and  fourteen  thousand  above  the  sea, 
— a  wall  truly  of  some  majesty,  at  once  the  most  precipitous 
and  the  strongest  mass  in  the  whole  chain  of  the  Aljis,  the 
Mont  Cervin. 

§  II.  It  has  been  falsely  represented  as  a  peak  or  tower. 
It  is  a  vast  ridged  promontory,  connected  at  its  western  root 
with  the  Dent  d’Erin,  and  lifting  itself  like  a  rearing  horse 
vutli  its  face  to  the  east.  All  the  way  along  the  flank  of  it, 
for  half  a  day’s  journey  on  the  Zmutt  glacier,  the  grim  black 
terraces  of  its  foundations  range  almost  without  a  break ;  and 
the*  clouds,  when  their  day’s  Avork  is  done,  and  they  are 
weary,  lay  themseh'es  dovm  on  those  foundation  steps,  and 
rest  till  dawn,  each  with  his  leagues  of  grey  mantle  stretched 
along  the  grisly  ledge,  and  the  cornice  of  the  mighty  waU 
gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  three  thousand  feet  above. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


V.  THE  WALL  VEIL. 


69 


§  III.  The  eastern  face  of  the  promontory  is  hewn  down, 
as  if  by  the  single  swnep  of  a  sword,  from  the  crest  of  it  to 
the  base ;  hewm  concave  and  smooth,  like  the  hollow  of  a 
wave :  on  each  flank  of  it  there  is  set  a  buttress,  both  of 
about  equal  height,  their  heads  sloped  out  from  the  main  wall 
about  seven  hundred  feet  below  its  summit.  That  on  the 
north  is  the  most  important ;  it  is  as  sharp  as  the  frontal  angle 
of  a  bastion,  and  sloped  sheer  aw'ay  to  the  north-east, 
throwing  out  spur  beyond  spur,  until  it  terminates  in  along 
low'  curve  of  russet  precipice,  at  whose  foot  a  great  bay  of  the 
glacier  of  the  Col  de  Cervin  lies  as  level  as  a  lake.  This  spur 
is  one  of  the  few  points  from  which  the  mass  of  the  Mont 
Cervin  is  in  anywise  approachable.  It  is  a  continuation  of  the 
masonry  of  the  mountain  itself,  and  affords  us  the  means  of 
examining:  the  character  of  its  materials. 

cT?  _ 

§  IV.  Few'"  architects  wnuld  like  to  build  w'itli  them.  The 
slope  of  the  rocks  to  the  north-w'est  is  covered  tw'O  feet  deep 
with  their  ruins,  a  mass  of  loose  and  slaty  shale,  of  a  dull 
brick-red  color,  which  yields  beneath  the  foot  like  ashes,  so 
that,  in  running  down,  you  step  one  yard,  and  slide  three. 
The  rock  is  indeed  hard  beneath,  but  still  disposed  in  thin 
courses  of  these  cloven  shales,  so  finely  laid  that  they  look  in 
places  more  like  a  heap  of  cmshed  autumn  leaves  than  a  rock ; 
and  the  first  sensation  is  one  of  unmitigated  surprise,  as  if  the 
mountain  were  upheld  by  miracle ;  but  surprise  becomes  more 
intelligent  reverence  for  the  great  builder,  when  we  find,  in 
the  middle  of  the  mass  of  these  dead  leaves,  a  course  of  living 
rock,  of  quartz  as  wfiiite  as  the  snow  that  encircles  it,  and 
harder  than  a  bed  of  steel. 

§  V.  It  is  one  only  of  a  thousand  iron  bands  that  knit  the 
strength  of  the  mighty  mountain.  Through  the  buttress  and 
the  wall  alike,  the  courses  of  its  varied  masonry  are  seen  in 
their  successive  order,  smooth  and  true  as  if  laid  by  line  and 
plummet,*  but  of  thickness  and  strength  continually  varying, 
and  with  silver  cornices  glittering  along  the  edge  of  each, 

*  On  the  eastern  side :  violently  contorted  on  the  northern  and  western. 


GO 


V.  THE  WALL  VEIL. 


CONBTKUCTIOW. 


laid  by  tbe  snowy  winds  and  carved  by  the  sunshine, — stainless 
ornaments  of  the  eternal  temple,  by  which  “neither  the 
hammer  nor  the  axe,  nor  any  tool,  was  heard  while  it  was  in 
building.” 

§  VI.  I  do  not,  however,  bring  this  forward  as  an  instance 
of  any  universal  law  of  natural  building ;  there  are  solid  as 
well  as  coursed  masses  of  precipice,  but  it  is  somewhat  curious  ' 
that  the  mc‘'t  noble  cliff  in  Europe,  which  this  eastern  front 
of  the  Cervin  is,  I  believe,  without  dispute,  should  be  to  us 
an  example  of  the  utmost  possible  stability  of  precipitousness 
attained  with  materials  of  imperfect  and  variable,  character  ; 
and,  what  is  more,  there  are  very  few  cliffs  which  do  not 
display  alternations  between  compact  and  friable  conditions 
of  their  material,  marked  in  their  contours  by  bevelled  slopes 
wdien  the  bricks  are  soft,  and  vertical  steps  when  they  are 
harder.  And,  although  we  are  not  hence  to  conclude  that  it 
is  well  to  introduce  courses  of  bad  materials  when  we  can 
get  perfect  material,  I  believe  we  may  conclude  with  great 
certainty  that  it  is  better  and  easier  to  strengthen  a  wall 
necessai'ily  of  imperfect  substance,  as  of  brick,  by  introducing 
carefully  laid  courses  of  stone,  than  by  adding  to  its  thickness  ; 
and  the  first  impression  we  receive  from  the  unbroken  aspect 
of  a  wall  veil,  unless  it  be  of  hewn  stone  throughout,  is  that 
it  must  be  bouh  thicker  and  weaker  than  it  would  have  been, 
had  it  been  properly  coursed.  Tlie  decorative  reasons  for 
adopting  the  coursed  arrangement,  which  we  shall  notice 
hereafter,  are  so  weighty,  that  they  would  alone  be  almost 
sufficient  to  enforce  it ;  and  the  constructive  ones  will  apply 
universally,  except  in  the  rare  cases  in  which  the  choice  of 
perfect  or  imperfect  material  is  entirely  open  to  us,  or  where 
the  general  system  of  the  decoration  of  the  building  requires 
absolute  unity  in  its  surface. 

§  VII.  As  regards  the  arrangement  of  the  intermediate 
parts  themselves,  it  is  regulated  by  certain  conditions  of 
bonding  and  fitting  the  stones  or  bricks,  which  the  reader 
need  hardly  be  troubled  to  consider,  and  which  I  wish  that 
bricklayers  themselves  were  always  honest  enough  to  observe. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


Y.  THE  WALL  VEIL. 


61 


But  I  hardly  know  whether  to  note  under  the  head  of  aesthetic 
:>!’  constructive  law,  this  important  principle,  that  masonry  is 
always  bad  which  appears  to  have  arrested  the  attention  of 
tJie  architect  more  than  absolute  conditions  of  strength 
fequire.  Nothing  is  more  contemptible  in  any  work  than  an 
appearance  of  the  slightest  desire  on  the  jiart  of  the  builder 
to  direct  attention  to  the  way  its  stones  are  put  together,  or  of 
any  trouble  taken  either  to  show  or  to  conceal  it  more  than 
was  rigidly  necessary ;  it  may  sometimes,  on  the  one  hand,  be 
necessary  to  conceal  it  as  far  as  may  be,  by  delicate  and  close 
fitting,  when  the  joints  would  interfere  with  lines  of  sculpture 
or  of  mourdings ;  and  it  may  often,  on  the  other  hand,  be 
delightful  to  show  it,  as  it  is  delightful  in  places  to  show  the 
anatomy  even  of  the  most  delicate  human  frame  :  but  studious¬ 
ly  to  conceal  it  is  the  error  of  vulgar  painters,  who  are  afraid  to 
show  that  their  figures  have  bones  ;  and  studiously  to  display 
it  is  the  error  of  the  base  pupils  of  Michael  Angelo,  who  turned 
heroes’  limbs  into  surgeons’  diagrams, — but  with  less  excuse 
than  theirs,  for  there  is  less  interest  in  the  anatomy  displayed. 
Exhibited  masonry  is  in  most  cases  the  expedient  of  architects 
who  do  not  know  how  to  fill  up  blank  spaces,  and  many  a 
building,  which  would  have  been  decent  enough  if  let  alone, 
has  been  scrawled  over  with 
straight  lines,  as  in  Fig.  III., 
on  exactly  the  same  princi¬ 
ples,  and  with  just  the  same 
amount  of  intelligence  as  a 
boy’s  in  scrawling  his  cojiy- 
book  when  he  cannot  write. 

The  device  was  thought  inge¬ 
nious  at  one  period  of  archi¬ 
tectural  history ;  St.  Paul’s 
and  Whitehall  are  covered 
with  it,  and  it  is  in  this  I  imagine  that  some  of  our  modern 
architects  suppose  the  great  merit  of  those  buildings  to  consist. 
There  is,  however,  no  excuse  for  errors  in  disposition  of 
masonry,  for  there  is  but  one  law  upon  the  subject,  and  that 


Fig.  III. 


1  1  1 

1  1  rn 

1 

izrz 

ATA  ZILE 

"iZ  ■  r 

1  - 

6/2 


V.  THE  WALL  VEIL. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


easily  complied  with,  to  avoid  all  affectation  and  all  unneces¬ 
sary  expense,  either  in  showing  or  concealing.  Every  one 
knows  a  building  is  built  of  separate  stones ;  nobody  will  over 
object  to  seeing  that  it  is  so,  but  nobody  wants  to  count  them. 
The  divisions  of  a  church  are  much  like  the  divisions  of  a 
sermon ;  they  are  always  right  so  long  as  they  are  necessary 
to  ediScation,  and  always  wrong  when  they  are  thrust  upon  the 
attention  .as  divisions  only.  There  may  be  neatness  in  carving 
when  there  is  richness  in  feasting ;  but  I  have  heard  many  a 
discourse,  and  seen  many  a  church  wall,  in  which  it  was  all 
caiwiug  and  no  meat. 


CHAPTEE  YL 


THE  AVALL  CORNICE. 

§  I.  We  liave  lastly  to  consider  tlie  close  of  tlie  Avail’s  exist¬ 
ence,  or  its  cornice.  It  Avas  above  stated,  that  a  cornice  has 
one  of  tAVO  offices :  if  the  Avail  have  nothing  to  carry,  the 
cornice  is  its  roof,  and  defends  it  from  the  Aveather ;  if  there 
is  Aveight  to  be  carried  above  the  Avail,  the  cornice  is  its  hand, 
and  is  expanded  to  carry  the  said  Aveiglit. 

There  are  several  Avays  of  roofing  or  protecting  indepen¬ 
dent  Avails,  according  to  the  means  nearest  at  hand  :  sometimes 
the  Avail  has  a  true  roof  all  to  itself ;  sometimes  it  terminates 
in  a  small  gabled  ridge,  made  of  bricks  set  slanting,  as  constantly 
in  the  suburbs  of  London ;  or  of  hewn  stone,  in  stronger  work ; 
or  in  a  single  sloping  face,  inclined  to  the  outside.  We  need 
not  trouble  ourselves  at  present  about  these  small  roofings, 
Avhich  are  merely  the  diminutions  of  large  ones ;  but  we  must 
examine  the  important  and  constant  member  of  the  Avail  struct¬ 
ure,  Avhich  prepares  it  either  for  these  small  roofs  or  for 
weights  above,  and  is  its  true  cornice. 

§  II.  The  reader  Avill,  perhaps,  as  heretofore,  be  kind 
enough  to  think  for  himself,  hoAv,  having  carried  up  his  wall 
A’eil  as  high  as  it  may  be  needed,  he  Avill  set  about  protecting 
it  from  Aveather,  or  preparing  it  for  Aveight.  Let  him  imagine 
the  top  of  the  unfinished  Avail,  as  it  Avould  be  seen  from  above 
with  all  the  joints,  perhaps  uncemented,  or  imperfectly  filled 
U2I  AAfith  cement,  open  to  the  sky ;  and  small  broken  materials 
filling  gaps  betw'een  large  ones,  and  leaAdng  cavities  ready  for 
the  rain  to  soak  into,  and  loosen  and  dissolve  the  cement,  and 
pjilit,  as  it  froze,  the  Avhole  to  pieces.  I  am  much  mistaken  if 


64 


VI.  THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION, 


Fig.  IV. 


a 


his  first  impulse  would  not  be  to  take  a  great  flat  stone  and  lay 
it  on  the  top ;  or  rather  a  series  of  such,  side  by  side,  project¬ 
ing  well  over  the  edge  of  the  wall  veil.  If,  also,  he  proposed 
to  lay  a  weight  (as,  for  instance,  the  end  of  a  beam)  on  the  wall, 
he  would  feel  at  once  that  the  pressure  of  this  beam  on,  or 
rather  among,  the  small  stones  of  the  wall  veil,  might  very 
possibly  dislodge  or  disarrange  some  of  them  ;  and  the  first 
impulse  would  be,  in  this  case,  also  to  lay  a  large  fiat  stone  on 

the  top  of  all  to  receive  the  beam,  or  any 
other  weight,  and  distribute  it  equally 
among  the  small  stones  below,  as  at  a,  Fig. 
lY. 

§  III.  W e  must  therefore  have  our  flat 
stone  in  either  case;  and  let  5,  Fig.  lY., 
be  the  section  or  side  of  it,  as  it  is  set  across 
the  wall.  Now,  evidently,  if  by  any 
chance  this  weight  happen  to  be  thrown 
more  on  the  edges  of  this  stone  than  the 
centre,  there  will  be  a  chance  of  these 
edges  breaking  off.  Had  we  not  better, 
therefore,  put  another  stone,  sloped  off  to 
the  wall,  beneath  the  projecting  one,  as  at 
c.  But  now  our  cornice  looks  somewhat 
too  heavy  for  the  wall ;  and  as  the  upper 
stone  is  evidently  of  needless  thickness, 
we  will  thin  it  somewhat,  and  we  have  the 


g 


form  d.  Now  observe ;  the  lower  or  bevelled  stone  here  at  d 
corresponds  to  d  in  the  base  (Fig.  II.,  page  59).  That  was  the 
foot  of  the  wall ;  this  is  its  hand.  And  the  top  stone  here, 
which  is  a  constant  member  of  cornices,  corresponds  to  the 
under  stone  c,  in  Fig.  II.,  which  is  a  constant  member  of  bases. 
The  reader  has  no  idea  at  present  of  the  enormous  importance 
of  these  members ;  but  as  we  shall  have  to  refer  to  them 
perpetually,  I  must  ask  him  to  compare  them,  and  fix  their 
relations  well  in  his  mind  :  and,  for  convenience,  I  shall  call 
the  bevelled  or  sloping  stone,  X,  and  the  upright  edged  stone, 
Y.  The  reader  may  remember  easily  which  is  which ;  for  X 


C0NSTKT3CTI0N. 


VI.  THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


65 


is  an  intersection  of  two  slopes,  and  may  therefore  properly 
mean  either  of  the  two  sloping  stones ;  and  Y  is  a  figure  with 
a  perpendicular  line  and  two  slopes,  and  may  therefore  fitly 
stand  for  the  upright  stone  in  relation  to  each  of  the  sloping 
ones ;  and  as  we  shall  have  to  say  much  more  about  cornices 
than  about  bases,  let  X  and  Y  stand  for  the  stones  of  the  cor¬ 
nice,  and  Xb  and  Yb  for  those  of  the  base,  when  distinction  is 
needed. 

§  IV.  Xow  the  form  at  6?,  Fig.  lY,,  is  the  great  root  and 
primal  type  of  all  cornices  whatsoever.  In  order  to  see  what 
forms  may  be  developed  from  it,  let  us  take  its  profile  a  little 


larger — a,  Fig.  Y.,  with  X  and  Y  duly  marked.  Xow  this 
form,  being  the  root  of  all  cornices,  may  either  have  to  finish 
the  wall  and  so  keep  off  rain ;  or,  as  so  often  stated,  to  carry 
weight.  If  the  former,  it  is  evident  that,  in  its  present  profile, 
the  rain  will  run  back  down  the  slope  of  X ;  and  if  the  latter, 
that  the  sharp  angle  or  edge  of  X,  at  k,  may  be  a  little  too 
weak  for  its  work,  and  run  a  chance  of  gi'vdng  way.  To  avoid 
the  evil  in  the  first  case,  suppose  we  hollow  the  slope  of  X 
inwards,  as  at  5 ;  and  to  avoid  it  in  the  second  case,  suppose 
we  strengthen  X  by  letting  it  bulge  outwards,  as  at  c. 

§  V.  These  {h  and  c)  are  the  profiles  of  two  vast  families  of 


66 


YI.  THE  'WALL  CORNICE. 


CONSTRYCTIOI^ 


cornices,  springing  from  tlie  same  root,  wliicli,  witli  a  tliird 
arising  from  their  combination  (owing  its  origin  to  sestlietic 
considerations,  and  inclining  sometimes  to  the  one,  sometimes 
to  the  other),  have  been  employed,  each  on  its  third  part  of 
the  architecture  of  the  whole  world  throughout  all  ages,  and 
must  continue  to  be  so  employed  through  such  time  as  is  yet 
to  come.  We  do  not  at  present  speak  of  the  third  or  com¬ 
bined  group ;  but  the  relation  of  the  two  main  branches  to 
each  other,  and  to  the  line  of  origin,  is  given  at  Fig.  V.  | 
where  the  dotted  lines  are  the  representatives  of  the  two 
families,  and  the  straight  line  of  the  root.  The  slope  of  this 
right  line,  as  well  as  the  nature  of  the  curves,  here  drawn  as 
segments  of  circles,  we  leave  undetermined  :  the  slope,  as  well 
as  the  proportion  of  the  depths  of  X  and  T  to  each  other,  vary 
according  to  the  weight  to  be  carried,  the  strength  of  the 
stone,  the  size  of  the  cornice,  and  a  thousand  other  accidents ; 
and  the  nature  of  the  curves  according  to  sesthetic  laws.  It  is 
in  these  infinite  fields  that  the  invention  of  the  architect  is  per¬ 
mitted  to  exjiatiate,  but  not  in  the  alteration  of  primitive 
forms. 

§  VI.  But  to  proceed.  It  will  doubtless  appear  to  the 
reader,  that,  even  allowing  for  some  of  these  permissible  vari¬ 
ations  in  the  curve  or  slo^ie  of  X,  neither  the  form  at  &,  nor 
any  approximation  to  that  form,  would  be  sufficiently  undercut 
to  keep  the  rain  from  running  back  upon  it.  This  is  true ; 
])ut  we  have  to  consider  that  the  cornice,  as  the  close  of  the 
wall’s  life,  is  of  all  its  features  that  which  is  best  fitted  for 
honor  and  ornament.  It  has  been  esteemed  so  by  almost  all 
builders,  and  has  been  lavishly  decorated  in  modes  hereafter  to 
be  considered.  But  it  is  evident  that,  as  it  is  high  above  the 
eye,  the  fittest  place  to  receive  the  decoration  is  the  slope  of 
X,  which  is  inclined  towards  the  spectator ;  and  if  we  cut  away 
or  hollow  out  this  slope  more  than  we  have  done  at  h,  all  dec¬ 
oration  Avill  be  hid  in  the  shadow.  If,  therefore,  the  climate 
be  fine,  and  rain  of  long  continuance  not  to  be  dreaded,  we 
shall  not  hollow  the  stone  X  further,  adopting  the  curve  at  h 
merely  as  the  most  protective  in  our  power.  But  if  the  climata 


CONSTRUCTION, 


YI.  THE  WALL  CORmCE. 


67 


be  one  in  wliicli  rain  is  frequent  and  dangerous,  as  in  alterna¬ 
tions  with  frost,  we  may  be  compelled  to  consider  the  cornice 
in  a  character  distinctly  protective,  and  to  hollow  out  X 
farther,  so  as  to  enable  it  thoroughly  to  accomplish  its  purpose. 
A  cornice  thus  treated  loses  its  character  as  the  crown  or 
honor  of  the  wall,  takes  the  office  of  its  protector,  and  is  called 
a  DRIPSTONE.  The  dripstone  is  naturally  the  attribute  of 
Xorthern  buildings,  and  therefore  especially  of  Gothic  archi¬ 
tecture  ;  the  true  cornice  is  the  attribute  of  Southern  buildings, 
and  therefore  of  Greek  and  Italian  architecture ;  and  it  is  one 
of  their  peculiar  beauties,  and  eminent  features  of  superiority. 

§  VII.  Before  passing  to  the  dripstone,  however,  let  us 
examine  a  little  farther  into  the  nature  of  the  true  cornice. 
We  cannot,  indeed,  render  either  of  the  forms  h  or  c.  Big.  Y., 
perfectly  protective  from  rain,  but  we  can  help  them  a  little 
in  their  duty  by  a  slight  advance  of  their  upper  ledge.  This, 
with  the  form  J*,  we  can  best  manage  by  cutting  off  the  sharp 
upper  point  of  its  curve,  which  is  evidently  weak  and  useless ; 
and  we  shall  have  the  form  f.  By  a  slight  advance  of  the 
upper  stone  <?,  we  shall  have  the  parallel  form  cj. 

These  two  cornices,  f  and  y,  are  characteristic  of  early 
Byzantine  work,  and  are  found  on  all  the  most  lovely 
examples  of  it  in  Yenice.  The  type  a  is  rarer,  but  occui’s 
pure  in  the  most  exquisite  piece  of  composition  in  Yenice — 
the  northern  portico  of  St.  Mark’s ;  and  will  be  given  in  due¬ 
time. 

§  vni.  Xow  the  reader  has  doubtless  noticed  that  these 
forms  of  cornice  result,  from  considerations  of  fitness  and 
necessity,  far  more  neatly  and  decisively  than  the  forms  of  the 
base,  which  we  left  only  very  generally  determined.  Tlie 
reason  is,  that  there  are  many  ways  of  building  foundations, 
and  many  good  ways,  dependent  upon  the  peculiar  accidents 
of  tlie  ground  and  nature  of  accessible  materials.  There  is 
also  room  to  spare  in  width,  and  a  chance  of  a  part  of  the 
arrangement  being  concealed  by  the  ground,  so  as  to  modify 
height.  But  we  have  no  room  to  spare  in  width  on  the  top 
of  a  wall,  and  all  that  we  do  must  be  thoroughly  visible ;  and 


G8 


VI.  THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


we  can  but  have  to  deal  with  bricks,  or  stones  of  a  certain 
degree  of  fineness,  and  not  with  mere  gravel,  or  sand,  or 

_ so  that  as  the  conditions  are  limited,  the  forms  become 

determined  5  and  our  steps  will  be  more  clear  and  ceitain  tne 
farther  we  advance.  The  sources  of  a  river  are  usually  half 
lost  among  moss  and  pebbles,  and  its  first  movements  doubtful 
in  direction  ;  but,  as  the  current  gathers  force,  its  banks  are 
determined,  and  its  branches  are  numbered. 

§  IX.  So  far  of  the  true  cornice :  we  have  still  to  detennine 

the  form  of  the  dripstone. 

We  go  back  to  our  primal  type  or  root  of  cornice,  a  of 
Tig.  V.  We  take  this  at  a  in  Fig.  VL,  and  we  are  to  con¬ 
sider  it  entirely  as  a  protection  against  rain.  Now  the  only 
way  in  which  the  rain  can  be  kept  from  rmining  back  on  the 

Fig.  VI. 

s 

L 

c 

slope  of  X  is  by  a  bold  hollowing  out  of  it  upwards,  1.  But 
clearly,  by  thus  doing,  we  shall  so  Aveaken  the  projecting  part 
of  it  that  the  least  shock  would  break  it  at  the  neck,  c ;  we 
must  therefore  cut  the  whole  out  of  one  stone,  Avhich  will  give 
us  the  form  d.  That  the  water  may  not  lodge  on  the  upper 
ledo-e  of  this,  we  had  better  round  it  off ;  and  it  will  better 
protect  the  joint  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope  if  we  let  the  stone 
project  over  it  in  a  roll,  cutting  the  recess  deeper  above. 
These  tAvo  changes  are  made  in  e  ,•  e  is  the  tA^e  of  dripstones ; 
the  projecting  part  being,  hoAvever,  more  or  less  rounded  into 
an  approximation  to  the  shape  of  a  falcon  s  beak,  and  often 
reaching  it  completely.  But  the  essential  part  of  the  arrange¬ 
ment  is  the  up  and  under  cutting  of  the  curve.  Wherever  we 
find  this,  Ave  are  sure  that  the  climate  is  AA^et,  or  that  the 


CONSTRUCTIOK. 


VI.  THE  WALL  COEHICE. 


60 


builders  liave  been  lyred  in  a  wet  country,  and  tliat  the  rest  of 
the  building  will  be  prepared  for  rough  weather.  The  up  cut- 
tinc:  of  the  curve  is  sometimes  all  the  distinction  between  the 
mouldings  of  far-distant  countries  and  utterly  strange  nations. 

Fig.  VII.  representing  a  moulding  with  an  outer  and  inner 
curve,  the  latter  under-cut.  Take  the 
outer  line,  and  this  moulding  is  one  con¬ 
stant  in  Venice,  in  architecture  traceable 
to  Arabian  types,  and  chiefly  to  the  early 
mosques  of  Cairo.  But  take  the  inner 
line ;  it  is  a  dripstone  at  Salisbury.  In 
that  narrow  interval  between  the  curves 
there  is,  when  we  read  it  rightly,  an  ex¬ 
pression  of  another  and  mightier  curve, — 
the  orbed  sweep  of  the  eirth  and  sea,  be¬ 
tween  the  desert  of  the  Pyramids,  and  the  green  and  level 
fields  throuo-h  which  the  clear  streams  of  Sarum  wind  so 

O 


Fig.  VII. 


slowly. 

And  so  delicate  is  the  test,  that  though  pure  cornices  are 
often  found  in  the  north, — borrowed  from  classical  models, — so 
surely  as  we  find  a  true  dripstone  moulding  in  the  South,  the 

influence  of  !Morthern 
builders  has  been  at 
^  work ;  and  this  will 
be  one  of  the  princi- 
)  pal  evidences  which  I 

^  shall  use  in  detecting 

Lombard  influence  on 


Fig.  vrii. 


I 


Arab  work ;  for  the 
true  Byzantine  and 


Arab  mouldings  are 


all  open  to  the  sky  and 
lifflit,  but  the  Lorn- 
bards  brought  with 
them  from  the  ^N^orth  the  fear  of  rain,  and  in  all  the  Lombardic 
Gothic  we  instantly  recognize  the  shadowy  dripstone  :  n.  Fig. 
VIII.,  is  from  a  noble  fragment  at  Milan,  in  the  Piazza  dei 


70 


VI.  THE  WALL  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


ISIercanti  j  from  tliG  Brolotto  of  Como.  Compare  tliem 
with  G  and  cl,  both  from  Salisbury  ;  e  andy  from  Lisieux,  ICor- 
mandy  5  y  and  h  from  AVeidock  Abbey,  Shropshire. 

§  X.  The  reader  is  now  master  of  all  that  he  need  know 
about  the  construction  of  the  general  wall  cornice,  fitted 
either  to  become  a  crown  of  the  wall,  or  to  carry  weight 
above.  If,  however,  the  weight  above  become  considerable, 
it  may  be  necessary  to  support  the  cornice  at  intervals  with 
brackets ;  especially  if  it  be  required  to  project  far,  as  well 
as  to  carry  weight ;  as,  for  instance,  if  there  be  a  gallery 
on  top  of  the  wall.  This  kind  of  bracket-cornice,  deep  or 
shallow,  forms  a  separate  family,  essentially  connected  with 
roofs  and  galleries ;  for  if  there  be  no  superincumbent  weight, 
it  is  evidently  absurd  to  put  brackets  to  a  plain  cornice  or  drip¬ 
stone  (though  this  is  sometimes  done  in  carrying  out  a  style) ; 
so  that,  as  soon  as  we  see  a  bracket  put  to  a  cornice,  it  implies, 
or  should  imply,  that  there  is  a  roof  or  gallery  above  it. 
Hence  this  family  of  cornices  I  shall  consider  in  connection 
with  roofing,  calling  them  “  roof  cornices,”  while  what  we 
have  hitherto  examined  are  proper  wall  cornices.”  The  roof 
cornice  and  wall  cornice  are  therefore  treated  in  division  D. 

AVe  are  not,  however,  as  yet  nearly  ready  for  our  roof. 
We  have  only  obtained  that  which  was  to  be  the  object  of 
our  first  division  (A) ;  we  have  got,  that  is  to  say,  a  general 
idea  of  a  Avail  and  of  the  three  essential  parts  of  a  aatiII  ;  and 
we  have  next,  it  will  be  remembered,  to  get  an  idea  of  a  pier 
and  the  essential  parts  of  a  pier,  Avhich  Avere  to  be  the  subjects 
of  our  second  division  (B). 


CHAPTEE  YII. 


THE  PIEK  BASE. 

§  I,  In  §  III.  of  Cliap.  III.,  it  was  stated  tliat  wlien  a  wall  Ead 
to  sustain  an  addition  of  vertical  pressure,  it  was  first  fitted  to 
sustain  it  by  some  addition  to  its  own  tliiclmess  ;  but  if  the 
pressure  became  very  great,  by  being  gathered  up  into  Piees. 

I  must  first  make  the  reader  understand  what  I  mean  by  a 
wall’s  being  gathered  up.  Take  a  piece  of  tolerably  thick 
drawing-paper,  or  thin  Bristol  board,  five  or  six  inches  square. 
Set  it  on  its  edge  on  the  table,  and  put  a  small  octavo  book 
on  the  edge  or  top  of  it,  and  it  will  bend  instantly.  Tear  it 
into  four  strips  all  across,  and  roll  up  each  strip  tightly.  Set 
these  rolls  on  end  on  the  table,  and  they  will  carry  the  small 
octavo  perfectly  well.  Eow  the  thickness  or  substance  of  the 
paper  employed  to  carry  the  weight  is  exactly  the  same  as  it 
was  before,  only  it  is  differently  arranged,  that  is  to  say, 
‘‘gathered  up.”*  If  therefore  a  wall  be  gathered  up  like  the 
Bristol  board,  it  will  bear  greater  weight  than  it  would  if  it 
remained  a  wall  veil.  The  sticks  into  which  you  gather  it  are 
called  Piers.  A  ]iier  is  a  coagulated  wall. 

§  II.  Eow  you  cannot  quite  treat  the  wall  as  you  did  the 
Bristol  board,  and  twist  it  up  at  once  ;  but  let  us  see  how  you 
can  treat  it.  Let  a.  Fig.  IX.,  be  the  plan  of  a  wall  which  you 

*  The  experiment  is  not  quite  fair  in  this  rude  fashion ;  for  the  small 
roils  owe  their  increase  of  strength  much  more  to  their  tubular  form  than 
their  aggregation  of  material;  but  if  the  paper  be  cut  up  into  small  strips, 
and  tied  together  firmly  in  three  or  four  compact  bundles,  it  will  exhibit 
increase  of  strength  enough  to  show  the  principle.  Yide,  how'ever,  Appen¬ 
dix  16,  “  Strength  of  Shafts,” 


72 


TII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


CONSTRtrCTIOK. 


have  made  inconveniently  and  expensively  thick,  and  which 
still  appears  to  be  slightly  too  weak  for  what  it  must  carry : 
divide  it,  as  at  b,  into  equal  spaces,  a,  J,  «,  Z>,  &c.  Cut  out  a 
thin  slice  of  it  at  every  a  on  each  side,  and  put  the  slices  you 
cut  out  on  at  every  h  on  each  side,  and  you  will  have  the  plan 
at  B,  with  exactly  the  same  quantity  of  bricks.  But  your  wall 
is  now  so  much  concentrated,  that,  if  it  was  only  slightly  too 


Fig.  IX. 


weak  before,  it  will  be  stronger  now  than  it  need  be  ;  so  you 
may  spare  some  of  your  space  as  well  as  your  bricks  by  cut¬ 
ting  off  the  corners  of  the  thicker  parts,  as  suppose  c,  c,  c,  c, 
at  c :  and  you  have  now  a  series  of  square  piers  connected  by 
a  wall  veil,  which,  on  less  space  and  with  less  materials,  will 
do  the  work  of  the  wall  at  a  perfectly  well. 

§  III.  I  do  not  say  how  much  may  be  cut  away  in  the  comers 
<?,  c, — that  is  a  mathematical  question  with  which  we  need  not 


CONSTRUCTION. 


YII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


73 


trouble  ourselves :  all  that  we  need  know  is,  that  out  of  every 
slice  we  take  from  the  “  b's  ”  and  put  on  at  the  “  a’s,”  we  may 
keep  a  certain  percentage  of  room  and  bricks,  until,  supposing 
that  we  do  not  want  the  wall  veil  for  its  own  sake,  this  latter 
is  thinned  entirely  away,  like  the  girdle  of  the  Lady  of  Avenel, 
and  finally  breaks,  and  we  have  nothing  but  a  row  of  square 
piers,  D. 

§  IV,  But  have  we  yet  arrived  at  the  form  which  will  spare 
most  room,  and  use  fewest  materials.  No  ;  and  to  get  farther 
we  must  apply  the  general  principle  to  our  wall,  which  is 
equally  true  in  morals  and  mathematics,  that  the  strength  of 
materials,  or  of  men,  or  of  minds,  is  always  most  available 
when  it  is  applied  as  closely  as  possible  to  a  single  point. 

Let  the  point  to  which  we  wish  the  strength  of  our  square 
piers  to  be  applied,  be  chosen.  Then  we  shall  of  course  put 
them  directly  under  it,  and  the  point  will  be  in  their  centre. 
But  now  some  of  their  materials  are  not  so  near  or  close  to 
this  point  as  others.  Those  at  the  corners  are  farther  off  than 
the  rest. 

Now,  if  every  particle  of  the  pier  be  brought  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  centre  of  it,  the  form  it  assumes  is  the  circle. 

The  circle  must  be,  therefore,  the  best  possible  form  of 
plan  for  a  pier,  from  the  beginning  of  time  to  the  end  of  it. 
A  circular  j)ier  is  called  a  pillar  or  column,  and  all  good  archi¬ 
tecture  adapted  to  vertical  support  is  made  up  of  pillars,  has 
always  been  so,  and  must  ever  be  so,  as  long  as  the  laws  of  the 
universe  hold. 

The  final  condition  is  represented  at  e,  in  its  relation  to  that 
at  D.  It  will  be  observed  that  though  each  circle  projects  a 
little  beyond  the  side  of  the  square  out  of  which  it  is  formed, 
the  space  cut  oil  at  the  angles  is  greater  than  that  added  at 
the  sides ;  for,  havdng  our  materials  in  a  more  concentrated 
arrangement,  we  can  afford  to  part  with  some  of  them  in  this 
last  transformation,  as  in  all  the  rest, 

§  V.  And  now,  what  have  the  base  and  the  cornice  of  the 
wall  been  doing  while  we  have  been  cutting  the  veil  to  pieces 
and  gathering  it  together  ? 


74 


YII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


The  base  is  also  cut  to  pieces,  gathered  together,  and  be¬ 
comes  the  base  of  the  column. 

The  cornice  is  cut  to  pieces,  gathered  together,  and  be¬ 
comes  the  capital  of  the  column.  Do  not  be  alarmed  at  the 
new  word,  it  does  not  mean  a  new  thing ;  a  capital  is  only  the 
cornice  of  a  column,  and  you  may,  if  you  like,  call  a  cornice 
the  capital  of  a  wall. 

We  have  now,  therefore,  to  examine  these  three  concen¬ 
trated  forms  of  the  base,  veil,  and  cornice :  first,  the  concen¬ 
trated  base,  still  called  the  Base  of  the  column ;  then  the 
concentrated  veil,  called  the  Shaft  of  the  column ;  then  the 
concentrated  cornice,  called  the  Capital  of  the  column. 

And  first  the  Base : — 

§  VI.  Look  back  to  the  main  tyjie.  Fig.  II.,  page  55,  and 
apply  its  profiles  in  due  proportion  to  the  feet  of  the  pillars  at 


Fig.  X. 


E  in  Fig.  IX.  p.  72  :  If  each  step  in  Fig.  II.  were  gathered 
accurately,  the  projection  of  the  entire  circular  base  would  be 
less  in  proportion  to  its  height  than  it  is  in  Fig.  II. ;  but  the 
approximation  to  the  result  in  Fig.  X.  is  quite  accurate  enough 
for  our  purposes.  (I  pray  the  reader  to  observe  that  I  have 
not  made  the  smallest  change,  except  this  necessary  expres¬ 
sion  of  a  reduction  in  diameter,  in  Fig.  II.  as  it  is  applied 
in  Fig.  X.,  only  I  have  not  drawn  the  joints  of  the  stones 
because  these  would  confuse  the  outlines  of  the  bases;  and 
I  have  not  represented  the  rounding  of  the  shafts,  because 


CONSTRUCTION. 


TII.  TnE  PIER  BASE. 


75 


it  does  not  bear  at  present  on  the  argument.)  Kow  it  would 
hardly  be  convenient,  if  we  had  to  jiass  between  the  pillars,  to 
have  to  squeeze  ourseh'es  through  one  of  those  angular  gaps 
or  breches  de  lioland  in  Fig.  X.  Our  iirst  impulse  would  be 
to  cut  them  open ;  but  we  caimot  do  this,  or  our  piers  are 
unsafe.  We  have  but  one  other  resource,  to  fill  them  up  until 
we  have  a  floor  wide  enough  to  let  us  pass  easily  :  this  we  may 
perhaps  obtain  at  the  first  ledge,  we  are  nearly  sure  to  get  it 
at  the  second,  and  we  may  then  obtain  access  to  the  raised 
interval,  either  by  raising  the  earth  over  the  lower  courses  of 
foundation,  or  by  steps  round  the  entire  building. 

Fig.  XI.  is  the  arrangement  of  Fig.  X.  so  treated. 


Fig.  XL 


§  VII.  But  suppose  the  pillars  are  so  vast  that  the  lowest 
chink  in  Fig.  X.  would  be  quite  wide  enough  to  let  us  pass 
through  it.  Is  there  then  any  reason  for  filling  it  up?  Yes. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  in  Chap.  lY.  §  viii.  the  chief  reason 
for  the  wide  foundation  of  the  wall  was  stated  to  be  “  that  it 
might  equalise  its  pressure  over  a  largo  surface but  when 
the  foundation  is  cut  to  pieces  as  in  Fig.  X.,  the  pressure  is 
thrown  on  a  succession  of  narrowed  and  detached  spaces  of 
that  surface.  If  the  ground  is  in  some  places  more  disposed 
to  yield  than  in  others,  the  piers  in  those  places  will  sink  more 
than  the  rest,  and  this  distortion  of  the  system  will  be  probably 
of  more  importance  in  pillars  than  in  a  wall,  because  the  adjust- 


76 


VII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


CONSTRUCTION 


nient  of  tlie  weiglit  above  is  more  delicate ;  we  thus  actually 
want  the  iceigJit  of  the  stones  between  the  pillars,  in  order 
that  the  whole  foundation  may  be  bonded  into  one,  and  sink 
together  if  it  sink  at  all :  and  the  more  massy  the  pillars,  the 
more  we  shall  need  to  till  the  intervals  of  their  foundations. 
In  the  best  form  of  Greek  architecture,  the  intervals  are  tilled 
uj)  to  the  root  of  the  shaft,  and  the  columns  have  no  indepen¬ 
dent  base ;  they  stand  on  the  even  floor  of  their  foundation. 

S  'em.  Such  a  structure  is  not  onlv  admissible,  but,  when 
the  column  is  of  great  thickness  in  proportion  to  its  height, 
and  the  sutfleient  firmness,  either  of  the  ground  or  jirepared  floor, 
is  evident,  it  is  the  best  of  all,  having  a  strange  dignity  in  its 
excessive  simplicity.  It  is,  or  ought  to  be,  connected  in  our 
minds  with  the  deep  meaning  of  primeval  memorial.  “And 
Jacob  took  the  stone  that  he  had  put  for  his  pillow,  and  set  it 
up  for  a  pillar,”  I  do  not  fancy  that  he  put  a  base  for  it  first. 
If  you  try  to  put  a  base  to  the  rock-piers  of  Stonehenge,  you 
will  hardly  find  them  improved  ;  and  two  of  the  most  perfect 
buildings  in  the  world,  the  Parthenon  and  Ducal  palace  of 
Venice,  have  no  bases  to  their  pillars  :  the  latter  has  them, 
indeed,  to  its  upper  arcade  shafts ;  and  had  once,  it  is  said,  a 
continuous  raised  base  for  its  lower  ones :  but  successive  eleva¬ 
tions  of  St.  Mark’s  Place  have  covered  this  base,  and  parts  of 
the  shafts  themselves,  with  an  inundation  of  paving  stones ; 
and  yet  the  building  is,  I  doubt  not,  as  grand  as  ever.  Finally, 
the  two  most  noble  pillars  in  Venice,  those  brought  from  Acre, 
stand  on  the  smooth  marble  surface  of  the  Piazzetta,  with  no 
independent  bases  whatever.  They  are  rather  broken  away 
beneath,  so  that  you  may  look  under  parts  of  them,  and  stand 
(not  quite  erect,  but  leaning  somewhat)  safe  by  their  own 
massy  weight.  Is  or  could  any  bases  possibly  be  devised  that 
would  not  spoil  them. 

§  IX.  But  it  is  otherwise  if  the  pillar  be  so  slender  as  to  look 
doubtfully  balanced.  It  would  indeed  stand  quite  as  safely 
without  an  independent  base  as  it  would  with  one  (at  least, 
unless  the  base  be  in  the  form  of  a  socket).  But  it  will  not 
appear  so  safe  to  the  eye.  And  here  for  the  first  time,  I  have 


CONSTRUCTION. 


VII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


77 


to  express  and  apply  a  princijile,  wliicli  I  believe  tlie  reader 
will  at  once  grant, — that  features  necessary  to  express  security 
to  tlie  imagination,  are  often  as  essential  parts  of  good  archi¬ 
tecture  as  those  required  for  security  itself.  It  was  said  that 
the  wall  base  was  the  foot  or  paw  of  the  wall.  Exactly  in  the 
same  way,  and  with  clearer  analogy,  the  pier  base  is  the  foot 
or  paw  of  the  pier.  Let  us,  then,  take  a  hint  from  nature. 
A  foot  has  two  offices,  to  bear  up,  and  to  hold  firm.  As  far 
as  it  has  to  bear  up,  it  is  uncloven,  wdth  slight  projection, — 
look  at  an  elephant’s  (the  Doric  base  of  animality) ;  *  but  as 
far  as  it  has  to  hold  firm,  it  is  divided  and  clawed,  with  wide 
projections, — ^look  at  an  eagle’s. 

§  X.  ISTow  observe.  In  proportion  to  the  massiness  of  the 
column,  we  require  its  foot  to  express  merely  the  power  of 
bearing  up  ^  in  fact,  it  can  do  Avithout  a  foot,  like  the  Squire 
in  Chevy  Chase,  if  the  ground  only  be  hard  enough.  But  if 
the  column  be  slender,  and  look  as  if  it  might  lose  its  balance, 
AA’e  require  it  to  look  as  if  it  had  hold  of  the  ground,  or  the 
ground  hold  of  it,  it  does  not  matter  which, — some  expression 
of  claw,  prop,  or  socket.  How  let  us  go  back  to  Fig.  XI.,  and 
take  up  one  of  the  bases  there,  in  the  state  in  Avhich  we  left  it. 
We  may  leave  out  the  two  lower  steps  (with  which  we  have 
nothing  more  to  do,  as  they  have  become  the  united  floor  or 
foundation  of  the  whole),  and,  for  the  sake  of  greater  clear¬ 
ness,  I  shall  not  draAV  the  bricks  in  the  shaft,  nor  the  flat  stone 
which  carries  them,  though  the  reader  is  to  suppose  them  re¬ 
maining  as  dravm  in  Fig.  XI.  5  but  I  shall  only  draw  the  shaft 
and  its  two  essential  members  of  base,  Xb  and  L  b,  as  explained 
at  p.  65,  above :  and  now,  expressing  the  rounding  of  these 
numbers  on  a  somewhat  larger  scale,  Ave  have  the  profile  a, 
Fig.  XII. ;  5,  the  perspectiA'^e  appearance  of  such  a  base  seen 

from  aboA'e  ;  and  c,  the  plan  of  it. 

§  XI.  XoAV  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  is  not  satisfied  of  the 
stability  of  this  form  as  it  is  seen  at  h  ;  nor  would  he  ever  be 
so  with  the  main  contour  of  a  circular  base.  Observe,  we  have 


*  Appendix  17,  “Answer  to  Mr.  Garbett.” 


78 


VII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


CONSTROCTIOK^. 


taken  some  trouble  to  reduce  tlie  member  Yb  into  tins  round 
form,  and  all  that  we  have  gained  by  so  doing,  is  this  unsatis 
factory  and  unstable  look  of  tlie  base ;  of  wliicli  the  chief 
reason  is,  that  a  circle,  unless  enclosed  by  right  lines,  has  never 
an  appearance  of  fixture,  or  definite  place,* — we  snspect  it  of 
motion,  like  an  orb  of  heaven ;  and  the  second  is,  that  the 


Fig.  XII. 


whole  base,  considered  as  the  foot  of  the  shaft,  has  no  grasp 
nor  hold  :  it  is  a  club-foot,  and  looks  too  blunt  for  the  limb, — ■ 
it  wants  at  least  expansion,  if  not  division, 

§  XII.  Suppose,  then,  instead  of  taking  so  much  trouble 
witli  the  member  Yb,  we  save  time  and  labor,  and  leave  it  a 


*  Yet  more  so  than  any  other  fig^nre  enclosed  by  a  curved  line:  for  the 
circle,  in  its  relations  to  its  own  centre,  is  the  curve  of  greatest  stability. 
Compare  §  xx.  of  Chap.  XX. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


YII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


79 


square  block.  Xb  must,  liOTuever,  evidently  follow  tlie  pillar, 
as  its  condition  is  tliat  it ’slope  to  tlie  very  base  of  the  wall  veil, 
and  of  whatever  the  wall  veil  becomes.  So  the  corners  of  Yb 
will  project  beyond  the  circle  of  Xb,  and  we  shall  have  (Fig. 
XII.)  the  profile  the  jierspective  appearance  e.,  and  tlie  plan 
f.  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  likes  e  miicli  better  than  be  did 
Z>.  The  circle  is  now  placed,  and  we  are  not  afraid  of  its  roll¬ 
ing  away.  The  foot  has  greater  expansion,  and  we  have  saved 
labor  besides,  with  little  loss  of  space,  for  the  interval  between 
the  bases  is  just  as  great  as  it  was  before, — wo  have  only  tilled 
up  the  corners  of  the  squares. 

But  is  it  not  possible  to  mend  the  forni  still  further  ?  There 
is  surely  still  an  appearance  of  separation  between  Xb  and  Yb, 
as  if  the  one  might  slip  off  the  other.  The  foot  is  expanded 
enough  ;  but  it  needs  some  expression  of  grasp  as  well.  It  has 
no  toes.  Suppose  we  were  to  put  a  spur  or  prop  to  Xb  at  each 
corner,  so  as  to  hold  it  fast  in  the  centre  of  Yb.  We  will  do 
this  in  the  simplest  possible  form.  W e  will  have  the  spur,  or 
small  buttress,  sloping  straight  from  the  corner  of  Yb  up  to 
the  top  of  Xb,  and  as  seen  from  above,  of  the  shape  of  a  tri¬ 
angle.  x\pplying  such  spurs  in  Fig.  XII.,  we  have  the  diago¬ 
nal  profile  at  y,  the  perspective  4,  and  the  plan  i. 

§  XIII.  I  am  quite  sure  the  reader  likes  this  last  base  the 
best,  and  feels  as  if  it  were  the  firmest.  But  he  must  carefully 
distinguish  between  this  feeling  or  imagination  of  the  eye,  and 
the  real  stability  of  the  structure.  That  this  real  stability  has 
been  slightly  increased  by  the  changes  between  h  and  4,  in  Fig. 
XII.,  is  true.  There  is  in  the  base  4  somewhat  less  chance  of 
accidental  dislocation,  and  somewhat  greater  solidity  and  weight. 
But  this  very  slight  gain  of  security  is  of  no  importance  what¬ 
ever  when  compared  witlr  the  general  requirements  of  the 
structure.  The  pillar  must  be  'perfectly  secure,  and  more  than 
secure,  with  the  base  l>^  or  the  building  will  be  unsafe,  what¬ 
ever  other  base  you  put  to  the  pillar.  The  changes  are  made, 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  almost  inappreciable  increase  of  security 
they  involve,  but  in  order  to  convince  the  eye  of  the  real  secu¬ 
rity  which  the  base  1)  appears  to  compromise.  This  is  espe- 


80 


VII.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


CONSTRTJCTIOIC 


cially  tlie  case  witli  regard  to  the  props  or  spurs,  which  are 
absolutely  useless  in  reality,  but  are  of  the  highest  importance 
as  an  expression  of  safety.  And  this  will  farther  appear  when 
we  observe  that  they  have  been  above  cpiite  arbitrarily  supposed 
to  be  of  a  triangular  form.  Why  triangular  ?  Why  should 
not  the  spur  be  made  wider  and  stronger,  so  as  to  occupy  the 
whole  width  of  the  angle  of  the  square,  and  to  become  a  com¬ 
plete  expansion  of  Xb  to  the  edge  of  the  square  ?  Simply 
because,  whatever  its  width,  it  has,  in  reality,  no  supporting 
power  whatever;  and  the  expression  of  support  is  greatest 
where  it  assumes  a  form  approximating  to  that  of  the  spur  or 
claw  of  an  animal.  We  shall,  however,  find  hereafter,  that  it 
ought  indeed  to  be  much  wider  than  it  is  in  Fig.  XII.,  where 
it  is  narrowed  in  order  to  make  its  structure  clearly  intelli¬ 
gible. 

§  XIV.  If  the  reader  chooses  to  consider  this  spur  as  an 
aesthetic  feature  altogether,  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so,  and  to 
transfer  what  we  have  here  said  of  it  to  the  beginning  of  Chap. 
XXV.  I  think  that  its  true  jilace  is  here,  as  an  expression  of 
safety,  and  not  a  means  of  beauty ;  but  I  will  assume  only,  as 
established,  the  form  e  of  Fig.  XII.,  which  is  absolutely,  as  a 
construction,  easier,  stronger,  and  more  perfect  than  h.  A 
word  or  two  now  of  its  materials.  .The  wall  base,  it  will  be 
remembered,  was  built  of  stones  more  neatly  cut  as  they  were 
higher  in  place ;  and  the  members,  Y  and  X,  of  the  pier  base, 
Avere  the  highest  members  of  the  Avail  base  gathered.  But, 
exactly  in  proportion  to  this  gathering  or  concentration  in 
form,  should,  if  possible,  be  the  gathering  or  concentration  of 
substance.  For  as  the  whole  weight  of  the  building  is  now  to 
rest  upon  few  and  limited  spaces,  it  is  of  the  greater  importance 
that  it  should  be  there  received  by  solid  masonry.  Xb  and  Yb 
are  therefore,  if  possible,  to  be  each  of  a  single  stone ;  or,  Avhen 
the  shaft  is  small,  both  cut  out  of  one  block,  and  especially  if 
spurs  are  to  be  added  to  Xb.  The  reader  must  not  be  angry 
Avith  me  for  stating  things  so  self-evident,  for  these  are  all 
necessary  steps  in  the  chain  of  argument  Avhich  I  must  not 
break.  Even  this  change  from  detached  stones  to  a  single 


CONSTRUCTIOIT. 


VIT.  THE  PIER  BASE. 


81 


block  is  not  witliont  significance;  for  it  is  part  of  the  real 
service  and  value  of  the  member  \  b  to  provide  for  the  recep¬ 
tion  of  the  shaft  a  surface  free  from  joints ;  and  the  eje  always 
conceives  it  as  a  firm  covering  over  all  inequalities  or  fissures 
in  the  smaller  masonry  of  the  floor. 

§  XV.  I  have  said  nothing  yet  of  the  proportion  of  the 
height  of  Yb  to  its  width,  nor  of  that  of  Yb  and  Xb  to  each 
other.  Both  depend  much  on  the  height  of  shaft,  and  are  be¬ 
sides  variable  within  certain  limits,  at  the  architect’s  discretion. 
But  the  hmits  of  the  height  of  1.  b  may  be  thus  generally 
stated.  If  it  looks  so  thin  as  that  the  weight  of  the  columu 
above  might  break  it,  it  is  too  low ;  and  if  it  is  higher  than  its 
own  wddth,  it  is  too  high.  The  utmost  admissible  height  is 
that  of  a  cubic  block ;  for  if  it  ever  become  higher  than  it  is 
wide,  it  becomes  itself  a  part  of  a  pier,  and  not  the  base  of 
one. 

§  xvr.  I  have  also  supposed  Yb,  when  expanded  from 
beneath  Xb,  as  always  expanded  into  a  square,  and  four  spurs 
only  to  be  added  at  the  angles.  But  Yb  may  be  expanded  into 
a  pentagon,  hexagon,  or  polygon ;  and  Xb  then  may  have  five, 
six,  or  many  spurs.  In  proportion,  however,  as  the  sides 
increase  in  number,  the  sjuirs  become  shorter  and  less  energetic 
in  their  effect,  and  the  square  is  in  most  cases  the  best  form. 

§  XVII.  Wo  have  hitherto  conducted  the  argument  entirely 
on  the  supposition  of  the  pillars  being  numerous,  and  in  a 
range.  Suppose,  however,  that  we  require  only  a  single  pillar: 
as  we  have  free  space  round  it,  there  is  no  need  to  fill  up  the 
first  ranges  of  its  foundations ;  nor  need  we  do  so  in  order  to 
equalise  pressure,  since  the  pressure  to  be  met  is  its  own  alone. 
Under  such  circumstances,  it  is  well  to  exhibit  the  lower  tiers 
of  the  foundation  as  well  as  Yb  and  Xb.  The  noble  bases  of 
the  two  granite  jiillars  of  the  Piazzetta  at  Venice  are  formed 
by  tlie  entire  series  of  members  given  in  Fig.  X.,  the  lower 
coui’ses  expanding  into  steps,  wdth  a  superb  breadth  of  proiior- 
tion  to  the  shaft.  The  member  Xb  is  of  course  circular,  havinof 

•  ^  O 

its  proper  decorative  mouldings,  not  here  considered ;  Yb  is 
octagonal,  but  tilled  up  into  a  square  by  certain  curious  groups 


83 


VII.  THE  PIEK  BASE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


of  figures  representing  tlie  trades  of  Yenice.  The  three 
courses  below  are  octagonal,  with  their  sides  set  across  the 
angles  of  the  iimerinost  octagon,  Yb.  The  shafts  are  15  feet 
in  circumference,  and  the  lowest  octagons  of  the  base  56  (Y 
feet  each  side). 

§  XVIII.  Detached  buildings,  like  our  own  Monument,  are 
not  pillars,  but  towers  built  in  imitation  of  Pillars.  As  towers 
they  are  barbarous,  being  dark,  inconvenient,  and  unsafe, 
besides  lying,  and  pretending  to  bo  what  they  are  not.  As 
shafts  they  are  barbarous,  because  they  were  designed  at  a  time 
when  the  Penaissance  architects  had  introduced  and  forced  into 
accejitance,  as  de  rigueur^  a  kind  of  columnar  high-heeled  shoe, 
— a  thing  which  they  called  a  pedestal,  and  which  is  to  a  true 
base  exactly  what  a  Greek  actor’s  cothurnus  was  to  a  Greek 
e-entleman’s  sandal.  But  the  Greek  actor  knew  better,  I  be- 
lieve,  than  to  exhibit  or  to  decorate  his  cork  sole ;  and,  with 
shafts  as  with  heroes,  it  is  rather  better  to  put  the  sandal  off 
than  the  cothurnus  on.  There  are,  indeed,  occasions  on  which 
a  pedestal  may  be  necessary ;  it  may  be  lietter  to  raise  a  shaft 
from  a  sudden  depression  of  plinth  to  a  level  with  others,  its 
companions,  by  means  of  a  pedestal^  than  to  introduce  a  higher 
shaft ;  or  it  may  be  better  to  place  a  shaft  of  alabaster,  if 
otherwise  too  short  for  our  purpose,  on  a  pedestal,  than  to  use 
a  larger  shaft  of  coarser  material ;  but  the  pedestal  is  in  each 
case  a  make-shift,  not  an  additional  perfection.  It  may,  in  the 
like  manner,  be  sometimes  convenient  for  men  to  walk  on 
stilts,  but  not  to  keep  their  stilts  on  as  ornamental  parts  of 
dress.  The  bases  of  the  Nelson  Column,  the  Monument,  aud 
the  column  of  the  Place  Yendome,  are  to  the  shafts,  exactly 
what  highly  ornamented  wooden  legs  would  be  to  human 

§  XIX.  So  far  of  bases  of  detached  shafts.  As  we  cio  not 
yet  know  in  what  manner  shafts  are  likely  to  bo  grouped,  we 
can  say  nothing  of  those  of  grouned  shafts  until  we  know  more 
of  what  they  are  to  support. 

Lastly  ;  wo  have  throughout  our  reasoning  upon  the  base 
suitposed  the  pier  to  be  circular.  But  circumstances  may  occur 


CONSTRUCTION. 


Til.  THE  PIEE  BASE. 


83 


to  prevent  its  being  reduced  to  tins  form,  and  it  may  remain 
square  or  rectangular ;  its  base  will  then  be  simply  the  wall 
base  following  its  contour,  and  we  have  no  spurs  at  the  angles. 
Thus  much  may  serve  respecting  pier  bases ;  we  have  next  to 
examine  the  concentration  of  the  W all  V eil,  or  the  Shaft. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 


THE  SHAFT. 

§  I.  "We  have  seen  in  the  last  Chapter  how,  in  converting 
the  wall  into  the  square  or  cylindrical  shaft,  we  parted  at  every 
change  of  form  with  some  quantity  of  material.  In  proportion 
to  the  quantity  thus  surrendered,  is  the  necessity  that  what  we 
retain  should  be  good  of  its  land,  and  well  set  together,  since 
everything  now  depends  on  it. 

It  is  clear  also  that  the  best  material,  and  the  closest  con¬ 
centration,  is  that  of  the  natural  crystalline  rocks ;  and  that,  by 
having  reduced  our  wall  into  the  shape  of  shafts,  we  may  be 
enabled  to  avail  ourselves  of  tliis  better  material,  and  to 
excliange  cemented  bricks  for  crystallised  blocks  of  stone. 
Therefore,  the  general  idea  of  a  perfect  shaft  is  that  of  a  single 
stone  hewn  into  a  form  more  or  less  elongated  and  cylindrical. 
Under  this  form,  or  at  least  under  the  ruder  one  of  a  long 
stone  set  upright,  the  conception  of  true  shafts  appears  first 
to  have  occurred  to  the  human  mind ;  for  the  reader  must  note 
this  carefully,  once  for  all,  it  does  not  in  the  least  follow  that 
the  order  of  architectural  features  which  is  most  reasonable  in 
their  arrangement,  is  most  probable  in  their  invention.  I  have 
theoretically  deduced  shafts  from  walls,  but  shafts  were  never 
so  reasoned  out  in  architectural  practice.  The  man  who  first 
propped  a  thatched  roof  with  poles  was  the  discoverer  of  their 
principle ;  and  he  who  first  hewed  a  long  stone  into  a  cylinder, 
the  perfecter  of  their  practice. 

§  II.  It  is  clearly  necessary  that  shafts  of  this  kind  (we  will 
call  them,  for  convenience,  block  shafts)  should  be  composed 


CONSTKUCTION. 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


85 


of  stone  not  liable  to  flaws  or  fissures  ;  and  therefore  that  we 
must  no  longer  continue  our  argument  as  if  it  were  always 
possible  to  do  what  is  to  be  done  in  the  best  way  ;  for  the 
style  of  a  national  architecture  may  evidently  depend,  in  great 
measure,  upon  the  nature  of  the  rocks  of  the  country. 

Our  own  English  rocks,  which  supply  excellent  building 
stone  from  their  tliin  and  easily  divisible  beds,  are  for  the  most 
part  entirely  incapable  of  being  worked  into  shafts  of  any  size, 
except  only  the  granites  and  whinstones,  whose  hardness  ren¬ 
ders  them  intractable  for  ordinary  purposes  ; — and  English 
architecture  therefore  supplies  no  instances  of  the  block  shaft 
applied  on  an  extensive  scale ;  while  the  facility  of  obtaining 
large  masses  of  marble  has  in  Greece  and  Italy  been  partly  the 
cause  of  the  adoption  of  certain  noble  types  of  architectural 
form  peculiar  to  those  countries,  or,  when  occurring  elsewhere, 
derived  from  them. 

We  have  not,  however,  in  reducing  our  walls  to  shafts,  cal¬ 
culated  on  the  probabilities  of  our  obtaining  better  materials 
than  those  of  which  the  walls  were  built ;  and  we  sliall  there¬ 
fore  first  consider  the  form  of  shaft  which  will  be  best  when 
we  have  the  best  materials  ;  and  then  consider  how  far  we  can 
imitate,  or  how  far  it  will  be  wise  to  imitate,  this  form  with 
any  materials  we  can  obtain. 

§  III.  Kow  as  I  gave  the  reader  the  ground,  and  the  stones, 
that  he  mieht  for  himself  find  out  how  to  build  his  wall,  I 
shall  give  him  the  block  of  marble,  and  the  chisel,  that  he  may 
himself  find  out  how  to  shape  his  column.  Let  him  suppose 
the  elongated  mass,  so  given  him,  rudely  hewn  to  the  thickness 
which  he  has  calculated  will  be  proportioned  to  the  weight  it 
has  to  carry.  The  conditions  of  stability  will  require  that 
some  allowance  be  made  in  finishing  it  for  any  chance  of  slight 
disturbance  or  subsidence  of  the  ground  below,  and  that,  as 
everything  must  depend  on  the  uprightness  of  the  shaft,  as 
little  chance  should  be  left  as  possible  of  its  being  thrown  off 
its  balance.  It  ■will  therefore  be  pnident  to  leave  it  slightly 
thicker  at  the  base  than  at  the  top.'  This  excess  of  diameter  at 
the  base  being  determined,  the  reader  is  to  ask  himself  how^ 


86 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


COXSTRUCTIOK. 


most  easily  and  simply  to  smooth  the  column  from  one  extrem* 
ity  to  the  other.  To  cut  it  into  a  true  straight-sided  cone 
would  he  a  matter  of  much  trouble  and  nicety,  and  would 
incur  the  continual  risk  of  chipping  into  it  too  deep.  Why 
not  leave  some  room  for  a  chance  stroke,  work  it  slightly,  very 
slightly  convex,  and  smooth  the  curve  by  the  eye  between  the 
two  extremities  ?  vou  will  save  much  trouble  and  time,  and 
the  shaft  will  be  all  the  stronger. 

This  is  accordingly  the  natural  form  of  a  detached  block 
shaft.  It  is  the  best.  Ho  other  will  ever  be  so  agreeable  to 
the  mind  or  eye.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  not  capable  of 
more  refined  execution,  or  of  the  ap23lication  of  some  of  the 

Fig.  xm. 

a  _ -  -  _ 

A 

t-- - - - — 


B 

/ . 

laws  of  festhetic  beauty,  but  that  it  is  the  best  recipient  of 
execution  and  subject  of  law;  better  in  either  case  than  if  you 
had  taken  more  pains,  and  cut  it  straight. 

§  IV.  You  will  observe,  however,  that  the  convexity  is  to  be 
very  slight,  and  that  the  shaft  is  not  to  l)xd(je  in  the  centre,  but 
to  taper  from  the  root  in  a  curved  line ;  the  peculiar  character 
of  the  curve  you  will  discern  better  by  exaggerating,  in  a  dia¬ 
gram,  the  conditions  of  its  sculpture. 

Let  «,  «,  ?»,  ?>,  at  A,  Fig.  XIII.,  be  the  rough  block  of  the 
shaft,  laid  on  the  ground ;  and  as  thick  as  you  can  by  any 
chance  require  it  to  be ;  you  will  leave  it  of  this  full  thickness 
at  its  base  at  a,  but  at  the  other  end  you  will  mark  off  upon  it 
the  diameter  c,  cZ,  which  you  intend  it  to  have  at  the  summit ; 


COTiTSTKUCTIOK. 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


87 


you  will  then  take  yonr  mallet  and  chisel,  and  working  from  c 
and  d  you  will  roughly  knock  off  the  corners,  shaded  in  the 
tigure,  so  as  to  reduce  the  shaft  to  the  figure  described  by  the 
inside  lines  in  a  and  the  outside  lines  in  b  ;  you  then  proceed 
to  smooth  it,  you  chisel  away  the  shaded  parts  in  b,  and  leave 
your  finished  shaft  of  the  form  of  the  inside  lines  e,  h. 

The  result  of  this  operation  will  be  of  course  that  the  shafr 
tapers  faster  towards  the  top  than  it  does  near  the  ground. 
Observe  this  carefully  ;  it  is  a  point  of  great  future  im^Dortauce. 

§  y.  So  far  of  the  shape  of  detached  or  block  shafts.  ’^Ve 
can  carry  the  type  no  farther  on  merely  structural  considera¬ 
tions  :  let  us  pass  to  tlic  shaft  of  inferior  materials. 

Unfortunately,  in  practice,  this  step  must  be  soon  made. 
It  is  alike  difficult  to  obtain,  transport,  and  raise,  block  shafts 
more  than  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  except  in  remarkable  posi¬ 
tions,  and  as  pieces  of  singular  magnificence'.  Large  pillars 
are  therefore  always  composed  of  more  than  one  block  of 
stone.  Such  pillars  are  either  jointed  like  basalt  columns,  and 
composed  of  solid  pieces  of  stone  set  one  above  another ;  or 
they  are  filled  up  towers,  built  of  small  stones  cemented  into 
a  mass,  with  more  or  less  of  regularity  :  Keep  this  distinction 
carefully  in  mind,  it  is  of  great  importance ;  for  the  jointed 
column,  every  stone  composing  which,  however  thin,  is  (so  to 
speak)  a  complete  slice  of  the  shaft,  is  just  as  strong  as  the 
block  pillar  of  one  stone,  so  long  as  no  forces  are  brought  into" 
action  upon  it  which  would  have  a  tendency  to  cause  horizon¬ 
tal  dislocation.  But  the  pillar  which  is  built  as  a  filled-up 
tower  is  of  course  liable  to  fissure  in  any  direction,  if  its  cement 
give  way. 

But,  in  either  case,  it  is  evident  that  all  constructive  reason 
of  the  curved  contour  is  at  once  destroyed.  Far  from  bcinjj 
an  easy  or  natural  procedure,  the  fitting  of  each  portion  of 
the  curve  to  its  fellow,  in  the  sej)arate  stones,  would  require 
painful  care  and  considerable  masonic  skill;  while,  in  the  case 
of  the  filled-up  tower,  the  curve  outwards  would  be  even 
unsafe ;  for  its  greatest  strength  (and  that  the  more  in  propor¬ 
tion  to  its  careless  building)  lies  in  its  bark,  or  shell  of  outside 


88 


Tin.  THE  SHAFT. 


.  CONSTRUCTION. 


stone  ;  and  this,  if  curved  outwards,  would  at  once  burst  out¬ 
wards,  if  lieavil}^  loaded  above. 

If,  therefore,  the  curved  outline  be  ever  retained  in  such 
shafts,  it  must  be  in  obedience  to  sesthetic  laws  only. 

§  VI.  But  farther.  Kot  only  the  curvature,  but  even  the 
tapering  by  straight  lines,  would  be  somewhat  difficult  of 
execution  in  the  pieced  column.  Where,  indeed,  the  entire 
shaft  is  composed  of  four  or  five  blocks  set  one  upon  another, 
the  diameters  may  be  easily  determined  at  the  successive  joints, 
and  the  stones  chiselled  to  the  same  slope.  But  this  becomes 
sufficiently  troublesome  when  the  joints  are  numerous,  so  that 
the  pillar  is  like  a  jiile  of  cheeses  ;  or  when  it  is  to  be  built  of 
small  and  irregular  stones.  We  should  be  naturally  led,  in 
the  one  case,  to  cut  all  the  cheeses  to  the  same  diameter ;  in 
tlie  other  to  build  by  the  plumb-line ;  and  in  both  to  give  up 
the  tapering  altogether. 

§  VII.  Farther.  Since  the  chance,  in  the  one  case,  of  hori¬ 
zontal  dislocation,  in  the  other,  of  irregular  fissure,  is  much 
increased  by  the  composition  of  the  shaft  out  of  joints  or 
small  stones,  a  largei-  bulk  of  shaft  is  required  to  carry  the 
given  weight ;  and,  cceteris  jparilus,  jointed  and  cemented 
shafts  must  be  thicker  in  propoi’tion  to  the  weight  they  carry 
than  those  which  are  of  one  block. 

We  have  here  evidently  natural  causes  of  a  very  marked 
division  in  schools  of  architecture :  one  group  composed  of 
buildings  whose  shafts  are  either  of  a  single  stone  or  of  few 
joints ;  the  shafts,  therefore,  being  gracefully  tapered,  and 
reduced  by  successive  experiments  to  the  narrowest  possible 
diameter  jiroportioned  to  the  weight  they  carry  :  and  the  other 
group  embracing  those  buildings  whose  shafts  are  of  many 
joints  or  of  small  stones ;  shafts  which  are  therefore  not 
tapered,  and  rather  thick  and  ponderous  in  proportion  to  the 
weight  they  carry ;  the  latter  school  being  evidently  somewhat 
jmjierfect  and  inelegant  as  compared  with  the  former. 

It  may  perhaps  ajipear,  also,  that  this  arrangement  of  the 
materials  in  cylindrical  shafts  at  all  would  hardly  have  sug¬ 
gested  itself  to  a  people  who  possessed  no  large  blocks  out  of 


CONSTRUCTION. 


yill.  THE  SHAFT. 


89 


•wliicli  to  liew  tliem ;  and  tliat  tlie  shaft  built  of  many  pieces 
is  probably  derived  from,  and  imitative  of  the  shaft  hewn 
from  few  or  from  one. 

§  VIII.  If,  therefore,  yon  take  a  good  geological  map  of 
Europe,  and  lay  your  finger  upon  the  spots  where  volcanic 
intiiiences  supply  either  travertin  or  marble  in  accessible  and 
available  masses,  you  will  probably  mark  the  points  where 
the  types  of  the  first  school  have  been  originated  and  devel¬ 
oped.  If,  in  the  next  place,  you  will  mark  the  districts  where 
broken  and  rugged  basalt  or  whinstone,  or  slaty  sandstone, 
supply  materials  on  easier  tenns  indeed,  but  fragmentary  and 
unmanageable,  you  will  probably  distinguish  some  of  the 
birthplaces  of  tlie  derivative  and  less  graceful  school.  You 
will,  in  the  first  case,  lay  your  finger  on  Paestum,  Agrigentiim, 
and  Athens ;  in  the  second,  on  Durham  and  Lindisfarne. 

The  shafts  of  the  great  primal  school  are,  indeed,  in  their 
first  form,  as  massy  as  those  of  the  other,  and  the  tendency 
of  both  is  to  continual  diminution  of  their  diameters :  but  in 
the  first  school  it  is  a  true  diminution  in  the  thickness  of  the 
indejiendent  pier;  in  the  last,  it  is  an  apparent  diminution, 
obtained  by  giving  it  ' the  appearance  of  a  group  of  minor 
piers.  The  distinction,  however,  with  which  we  are  concerned 
is  not  that  of  slenderness,  but  of  vertical  or  curved  contour  ; 
and  we  may  note  generally  that  while  throughout  the  whole 
range  of  Northern  work,  the  perpendicular  shaft  appears  in" 
continually  clearer  development,  throughout  every  group 
which  has  inherited  the  spirit  of  the  Greek,  the  shaft  retains 
its  curved  or  tapered  form;  and  the  occurrence  of  the  vertical 
detached  shaft  may  at  all  'Qines,  in  European  architecture,  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  important  collateral  evidences  of 
Northern  influence. 

§  IX.  It  is  necessary  to  limit  this  observation  to  European 
architecture,  because  the  Egyptian  shaft  is  often  untapered, 
like  the  Northern.  It  appears  that  the  Central  Southern,  or 
Greek  shaft,  was  tapered  or  curved  on  aesthetic  rather  than 
constructive  principles ;  and  the  Egyptian  which  precedes,  and 
the  Northern  which  follows  it,  are  both  vertical,  the  one 


90 


YIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


CONSTRUCTIOK. 


because  the  best  form  bad  not  been  discovered,  tbe  other 
because  it  could  not  be  attained.  Botli  are  in  a  certain  decree 
barbaric ;  and  both  jiossess  in  combination  and  in  their  orna¬ 
ments  a  power  altogether  ditferent  from  that  of  the  Greek 
shaft,  and  at  least  as  impressive  if  not  as  admirable. 

§  X.  We  have  hitherto  spoken  of  shafts  as  if  their  number 
were  fixed,  and  only  their  diameter  variable  according  to  the 
weight  to  be  borne.  But  this  sujiposition  is  evidently  gratu¬ 
itous  ;  for  the  same  weight  may  be  carried  either  by  many 
and  slender,  or  by  few  and  massy  shafts.  If  the  reader  will 
look  back  to  Fig.  IX.,  he  will  find  the  number  of  shafts  into 
wdiich  the  wall  was  reduced  to  bo  dependent  altogether  upon 
the  length  of  the  spaces  a,  5,  a,  h,  &c.,  a  length  which  was 
arbitrarily  fixed.  Wo  are  at  liberty  to  make  these  spaces  of 
what  length  we  choose,  and,  in  so  doing,  to  increase  the  num¬ 
ber  and  diminish  the  diameter  of  the  shafts,  or  vice  versa. 

§  XL  Supposing  the  materials  are  in  each  case  to  be  of  the 
same  kind,  the  choice  is  in  great  part  at  the  architect’s 
discretion,  only  there  is  a  limit  on  the  one  hand  to  the 
multiplication  of  the  slender  shaft,  in  the  inconvenience  of  the 
narrowed  interval,  and  on  the  other,  to  the  enlargement  of 
the  massy  shaft,  in  the  loss  of  breadth  to  the  building.* 
That  will  be  commonly  the  best  proportion  which  is  a  natural 
mean  between  the  two  limits ;  leaning  to  the  side  of  grace  or 
of  grandeur  according  to  the  ex2n*essional  intention  of  the 
work.  I  say,  coinmonlij  the  best,  because,  in  some  cases,  this 
expressional  invention  may  prevail  over  all  other  considera¬ 
tions,  and  a  column  of  unnecessary  bulk  or  fantastic  slightness 
be  ado23ted  in  order  to  strike  the  sj^ectator  with  awe  or  with 
sui’j^rise.f  The  architect  is,  however,  rarely  in  2)ractice  com- 

*  In  saying  this,  it  is  assumed  that  tlie  interval  is  one  ■which  is  to  be 
traversed  by  men;  and  that  a  certain  relation  of  the  shafts  and  intervals  to 
the  size  of  the  human  figure  is  therefore  necessary.  When  shafts  are  use(S 
in  the  upper  stories  of  buildings,  or  on  a  scale  which  ignores  all  relation  to 
the  human  figure,  no  such  relative  limits  exist  either  to  slenderness  oi 
solidity. 

t  Vide  the  interesting  discussion  of  this  point  in  Mr.  Fergusson’s  ac 
count  of  the  Temple  of  Karnak,  “Principles  of  Beauty  in  Art,”  p.  219. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


91 


pellcd  to  use  one  kind  of  material  only;  and  liis  clioice  lies 
frequently  between  the  employment  of  a  larger  number  of 
solid  and  perfect  small  shafts,  or  a  less  number  of  pieced  and 
cemented  large  ones.  It  is  often  possible  to  obtain  from 
quarries  near  at  hand,  blocks  which  might  be  cut  into  shafts 
einlit  or  twelve  feet  lono;  and  four  or  live  feet  round,  when 
larger  shafts  can  only  be  obtained  in  distant  localities;  and 
the  question  then  is  between  the  perfection  of  smaller  features 
and  the  imperfection  of  larger.  We  shall  find  numberless 
instances  in  Italy  in  which  the  first  choice  has  been  boldly, 
and  I  think  most  wisely  made ;  and  magnificent  buildings 
have  been  composed  of  systems  of  small  but  perfect  shafts, 
multiplied  and  superimposed.  So  long  as  the  idea  of  the 
symmetry  of  a  perfect  shaft  remained  in  the  builder’s  mind, 
his  choice  could  hardly  be  directed  otherwise,  and  the  adoption 
of  the  built  and  tower-like  shaft  appears  to  have  been  the  result 
of  a  loss  of  this  sense  of  symmetry  consequent  on  the  employ¬ 
ment  of  intractable  materials. 

§  XII.  But  farther ;  we  have  up  to  this  point  spoken  of 
shafts  as  always  set  in  ranges,  and  at  equal  intervals  from  each 
other.  But  tliere  is  no  necessity  for  this  ;  and  material  differ¬ 
ences  may  be  made  in  their  diameters  if  two  or  more  be 
grouped  so  as  to  do  together  the  work  of  one  large  one,  and 
that  within,  or  nearly  within,  the  space  which  the  larger  one 
would  have  occupied, 

§  XIII.  Let  A,  B,  c.  Fig.  XIV.,  be  three  surfaces,  of  which 
B  and  c  contain  equal  areas,  and  each  of  them  double  that  of 
A  :  then  supposing  them  all  loaded  to  the  same  height,  b 
or  c  would  receive  twice  as  much  weight  as  a  ;  therefore, 
to  carry  b  or  c  loaded,  we  should  need  a  shaft  of  twice  the 
strength  needed  to  carry  a.  Let  s  be  the  shaft  required  to 
carry  a,  and  Sa  the  shaft  required  to  carry  b  or  c  ;  then  s 
may  be  divided  into  two  shafts,  or  s^  into  four  shafts,  as  at  Sg, 
all  equal  in  area  or  solid  contents  and  the  mass  a  might  be 

*  I  have  assumed  that  the  strength  of  similar  shafts  of  equal  height  is 
as  the  squares  of  their  diameters;  which,  though  not  actually  a  correct  es- 
pression,  is  sutRcieutly  so  for  all  our  present  purposes. 


93 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


COKSTKVCTION. 


a 


s 

B 

• 

m 

S3 


Fig.  XIV.  oari’ied  safely  by  two  of 

tliem,  and  tlie  masses  b 
and  c,  each  by  four  of 
tliem. 

l^ow  if  we  put  tlie 
single  shafts  each  under 
the  centre  of  the  mass  * 
they  have  to  bear,  as  rep¬ 
resented  by  the  shaded 
circles  at  a^,  the 

masses  a  and  c  are  both 
of  them  very  ill  support¬ 
ed,  and  even  b  insuffi¬ 
ciently  ;  but  apply  the 
four  and  the  two  shafts 
as  at  h,  J2,  J3,  and  they 
are  supported  satisfacto¬ 
rily.  Let  the  weight  on 
each  of  the  masses  be 
doubled,  and  the  shafts 
doubled  in  area,  then  we 
shall  have  such  arrange¬ 
ments  as  those  at  c,  Cj,  ; 
and  if  again  the  shafts 
and  weight  be  doubled, 
we  shall  have  c7,  cL,  d^. 

§  XIV.  Now  it  will  at 
once  be  observed  that  the 
arrangement  of  the  shafts 
in  the  series  of  b  and  c  is 
always  exactly  the  same 
in  their  relations  to  each 
other  ;  only  the  group  of 
B  is  set  evenly,  and  the 
group  of  c  is  sot  obliipicly, — the  one  carrying  a  square,  the 
other  a  cross. 

^  oil  have  in  these  tv’o  series  the  primal  representations  of 


C3 


CONSTRUCTION. 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


^3 


shaft  arrangement  in  the  Southern  and  IS’orthern  schools ; 
while  the  group  5,  of  which  is  the  double,  set  evenly,  and 
Cj  the  double,  set  obliquely,  is  common  to  both.  The  reader 
will  be  surprised  to  find  how  all  the  complex  and  varied  forms 
of  shaft  arrangement  will  range  themselves  into  one  or  other 
of  these  groups ;  and  still  more  surprised  to  find  the  oblique 
or  cross  set  system  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  square  set  system 
on  the  other,  severally  distinctive  of  Southern  and  Northern 
work.  The  dome  of  St.  Mark’s,  and  the  crossing  of  the  nave 
and  transepts  of  Beauvais,  are  both  carried  by  square  piers ; 
but  the  piers  of  St.  Mark’s  are  set  square  to  the  walls  of  the 
church,  and  those  of  Beauvais  obliquely  to  them :  and  this 
difference  is  even  a  more  essential  one  than  that  between  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  one  and  the  reedy  complication  of  the 
other.  The  two  squares  hero  in  the  margin  (Fig.  XY.)  are 
exactly  of  the  same  size,  but  their 
expression  is  altogetheT  different, 
and  in  that  difference  lies  one  of 
the  most  sul)tle  distinctions  be¬ 
tween  the  Gothic  and  Greek  spirit, 

■ — from  the  shaft,  which  bears  the 
building,  to  the  smallest  decoration. 

Tlie  Greek  square  is  by  preference  set  evenly,  the  Gothic 
square  obliquely;  and  that  so  constantly,  that  wherever  we 
find  the  level  or  even  square  occurring  as  a  prevailing  form, 
either  in  plan  or  decoration,  in  early  northern  work,  there  we 
may  at  least  suspect  the  presence  of  a  southern  or  Greek 
influence ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  wherever  the  oblique 
square  is  prominent  in  the  south,  we  may  confidently  look  for 
farther  evidence  of  tlie  influence  of  the  Gothic  architects. 
The  rule  must  not  of  course  be  pressed  far  when,  in  either 
school,  there  has  been  determined  search  for  every  possible 
variety  of  decorative  figures ;  and  accidental  circumstances 
may  reverse  the  usual  system  in  special  cases ;  but  the  evidence 
drawn  from  this  character  is  collaterally  of  the  highest  value, 
and  the  tracing  it  out  is  a  pursuit  of  singular  intei’est.  Thus, 
the  Pisan  Bomanesque  might  in  an  instant  be  pronounced  to 


94 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


have  been  formed  under  some  measure  of  Lombardic  influ¬ 
ence,  from  tlie  oblique  squares  set  under  its  arches  ;  and  in 
it  we  have  the  spirit  of  northern  Gothic  affecting  details  of 
the  southern ; — obliquity  of  square,  in  magnificently  shafted 
Romanesque.  At  Monza,  on  the  other  hand,  the  levelled 
square  is  the  characteristic  figure  of  the  entire  decoration  of 
the  facade  of  the  Duonio,  eminently  giving  it  southern  char- 


Fig.  XVI. 


acter ;  but  the  details  are  derived  almost  entirely  from  the 
northern  Gothic.  Here  then  we  have  southern  spirit  and 
northern  detail.  Of  the  cruciform  outline  of  the  load  of  the 
shaft,  a  still  more  positive  test  of  northern  work,  we  shall, 
have  more  to  say  in  the  28th  Chapter ;  we  must  at  jiresent 
note  certain  farther  changes  in  the  form  of  the  gi’ouped  shaft, 
which  open  the  way  to  every  branch  of  its  endless  combina¬ 
tions,  southern  or  northern. 

§  XV.  1.  If  the  group  at  d/g.  Fig.  XIY.,  be  taken  from  under 

its  loading,  and  have  its  centre 
filled  U23,  it  will  become  a  qua- 
trefoil ;  and  it  will  represent, 
in  their  form  of  most  frequent 
occurrence,  a  family  of  shafts, 
whose  plans  are  foiled  figures, 
trefoils,  quatrefoils,  cinquefoils, 
&c. ;  of  which  a  trefoiled  exam¬ 
ple,  from  the  Frari  at  Venice,  is 
the  third  in  Plate  II.,  and  a 
quatrefoil  from  Salisbury  the 
eighth.  It  is  rare,  however,  to 
find  in  Gothic  architecture 
shafts  of  this  family  composed 
of  a  large  number  of  foils, 
because  multifoiled  shafts  are 
seldom  true  grouped  shafts,  but 
are  rather  canal iculated  condi¬ 
tions  of  massy  piers.  The  repre¬ 
sentatives  of  this  family  may  be 
considered  as  the  quatrefoil  on  the  Gothic  side  of  the  Alps; 


CONSTEUCTION. 


YIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


95 


and  tlie  Egyptian  mnltifoiled  sliaft  on  the  south,  approximat¬ 
ing  to  the  general  type,  Fig.  XYI. 

§  xTi.  Exactly  opposed  to  this  great  family  is  that  of  shafts 
which  have  concave  curves  instead  of  convex  on  each  of  their 
sides ;  but  these  are  not,  properly  speaking,  grouped  shafts  at 
all,  and  their  proper  place  is  among  decorated  piers ;  only 
they  must  be  named  here  in  order  to  mark  their  exact  oj^posi- 
tion  to  the  foiled  system.  In  their  simplest  form,  represented 
by  c.  Fig.  XVI.,  they  have  no  representatives  in  good  archi¬ 
tecture,  being  evidently  weak  and  meagre ;  but  approximations 
to  them  exist  in  late  Gothic,  as  in  the  vile  cathedral  of  Orleans, 
and  in  modern  cast-iron  shafts.  In  their  fully  developed  form 
they  are  the  Greek  Doric,  Fig.  XVI.,  and  occur  in  caprices 
of  the  Eomanesque  and  Italian  Gothic :  Fig.  XVI.,  is  from 

the  Duomo  of  Monza. 

§  XVII.  2.  Between  and  of  Fig.  XIV.  there  may  be 
evidently  another  condition,  represented  at  6,  Plate  II.,  and 
formed  by  the  insertion  of  a  central  shaft  within  the  four 
external  ones.  This  central  shaft  we  may  suppose  to  expand 
in  proportion  to  the  weight  it  has  to  carry.  If  the  external 
shafts  expand  in  the  same  proportion,  the  entire  form  remains 
unchanged ;  but  if  they  do  not  expand,  they  may  (1)  be  pushed 
out  by  the  expanding  shaft,  or  (2)  be  gradually  swallowed  up 
in  its  expansion,  as  at  4,  Plate  II.  If  they  are  pushed  out,  they 
are  removed  farther  from  each  other  by  every  increase  of  the 
central  shaft ;  and  others  may  then  be  introduced  in  the  vacant 
spaces ;  giving,  on  the  plan,  a  central  orb  with  an  ever  increas¬ 
ing  host  of  satellites,  10,  Plate  II. ;  the  satellites  themselves 
often  varying  in  size,  and  perhaps  quitting  contact  with  the 
central  shaft.  Sujipose  them  in  any  of  their  conditions  fixed, 
while  the  inner  shaft  expands,  and  they  will  be  gradually  bur¬ 
ied  in  it,  forming  more  complicated  conditions  of  4,  Plate  II. 
The  combinations  are  thus  altogether  infinite,  even  suj^posing 
the  central  shaft  to  be  circular  only ;  but  their  infinity  is  mul¬ 
tiplied  by  many  other  infinities  when  the  central  shaft  itself 
becomes  square  or  crosslet  on  the  section,  or  itself  mnltifoiled 
(8,  Plate  II.)  with  satellite  shafts  eddying  about  its  recesses  and 


96 


Tin.  TifE  SaAFT. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


angles,  in  every  possible  relation  of  attraction.  Among  these 
endless  conditions  of  change,  the  choice  of  the  architect  is  free, 
this  only  being  generally  noted :  that,  as  the  whole  value  of 
such  piers  depends,  first,  upon  their  being  wisely  fitted  to  the 
weight  above  them,  and,  secondly,  upon  their  all  working 
together  :  and  one  not  failing  the  rest,  perhaps  to  the  ruin  of 
all,  he  must  never  multiply  shafts  without  visible  cause  in  the 
disposition  of  members  superimposed :  *  and  in  his  multiplied 
group  he  should,  if  possible,  avoid  a  marked  separation  between 
the  large  central  shaft  and  its  satellites ;  for  if  this  exist,  the 
satellites  will  either  appear  useless  altogether,  or  else,  which  is 
worse,  they  will  look  as  if  they  were  meant  to  keep  the  central 
shaft  together  by  wiring  or  caging  it  in ;  like  iron  rods  set 
round  a  supple  cylinder, — a  fatal  fault  in  the  piers  of  West¬ 
minster  Abbey,  and,  in  a  less  degree,  in  the  noble  nave  of  the 
cathedral  of  Bourges. 

§  xviii.  While,  however,  we  have  been  thus  subdividing  or 
assembling  our  shafts,  how  far  has  it  been  possible  to  retain 
their  curved  or  tapered  outline?  So  long  as  they  remain  dis¬ 
tinct  and  e(][ual,  however  close  to  each  other,  the  independent 
curvature  may  evidently  be  retained.  But  when  once  they  i 
come  in  contact,  it  is  equally  evident  that  a  column,  formed  of 
shafts  touching  at  the  base  and  separate  at  the  top,  would  j 
appear  as  if  in  the  very  act  of  splitting  asunder.  Hence,  in  all 
the  closely  arranged  groups,  and  especially  those  with  a  central 
shaft,  the  tapering  is  sacrificed  5  and  with  less  cause  for  regret, 
because  it  was  a  provision  against  subsidence  or  distortion, 
which  cannot  now  take  place  with  the  separate  members  of 
the  group.  Evidently,  the  work,  if  safe  at  all,  must  be  execu¬ 
ted  with  far  greater  accuracy  and  stability  when  its  supports  | 
are  so  delicately  arranged,  than  would  be  implied  by  such  pre-  •: 
caution.  In  grouping  shafts,  therefore,  a  true  peiqaendicular  j 
line  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  given  to  the  pier ;  and  the  reader 
will  anticipate  that  the  two  schools,  which  we  have  already  ; 
found  to  be  distinguished,  the  one  by  its  perpendicular  and  5 

*  How  far  this  condition  limits  the  system  of  shaft  grouping  we  shall  see  | 
presently.  The  reader  must  remember,  that  we  at  present  reasou  respecting  4 
shafts  in  the  abstract  only.  ? 


CONSTr-UCTIOIT. 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


97 


pieced  shafts,  and  the  other  hy  its  curved  and  block  shafts,  will 
be  found  divided  also  in  their  emjiloyment  of  grouped  shafts  ; 
— it  is  likely  that  the  idea  of  groujiing,  however  suggested, 
will  be  fully  entertained  and  acted  upon  by  the  one,  but  hesi- 
tatingly  by  the  other ;  and  that  w^e  shall  find,  on  the  one  hand, 
buildings  displaying  sometimes  massy  piers  of  small  stones, 
sometimes  clustered  piers  of  rich  complexity,  and  on  the  other, 
more  or  less  regular  succession  of  block  shafts,  each  treated  as 
entirely  independent  of  those  around  it. 

§  XIX.  Farther,  the  grouping  of  shafts  once  admitted,  it  is 
probable  that  the  complexity  and  richness  of  such  arrangements 
would  recommend  them  to  the  eye,  and  induce  their  frequent, 
even  their  unnecessary  introduction;  so  that  weight  which 
might  have  been  borne  by  a  single  pillar,  would  be  in  prefer¬ 
ence  supported  by  four  or  five.  And  if  the  stone  of  the 
country,  whose  fragmentary  character  first  occasioned  the 
building  and,  piecing  of,  the  large  pier,  were  yet  in  beds  con¬ 
sistent  enough  to  supply  shafts  of  very  small  diameter,  the 
strength  and  simplicity  of  such  a  construction  might  justify  it,, 
as  well  as  its  grace.  The  fact,  however,  is  that  the  charm 
which  the  multiplication  of  line  possesses  for  the  eye  has 
always  been  one  of  the  chief  ends  of  the  work  in  the  grouped 
schools ;  and  that,  so  far  from  employing  the  grouped  piers  in 
order  to  the  introduction  of  very  slender  block  shafts,  the  most 
common  form  in  which  such  piers  occur  is  that  of  a  solid 
jointed  shaft,  each  joint  being  separately  cut  into  the  contour 
of  the  group  required. 

§  XX.  We  have  hitherto  supposed  that  all  grouped  or  clus¬ 
tered  shafts  have  been  the  result  or  the  expression  of  an  actual 
gathering  and  binding  together  of  detached  shafts.  This  is 
not,  however,  always  so :  for  some  clustered  shafts  are  little 
more  than  solid  piers  channelled  on  the  surface,  and  their  form 
appears  to  be  merely  the  development  of  some  longitudinal 
furrowing  or  striation  on  the  original  single  shaft.  That  clus¬ 
tering  or  striation,  whichever  we  choose  to  call  it,  is  in  this 
case  a  decorative  feature,  and  to  be  considered  under  the  head 
of  decoration. 

§  XXI.  It  must  be  evident  to  the  reader  at  a  glance,  that  the 


D8 


Tin.  THE  SHAFT. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


real  serviceableness  of  any  of  these  grouped  arrangements  must 
depend  njion  the  relative  shortness  of  the  shafts,  and  that, 
when  the  whole  pier  is  so  lofty  that  its  minor  members  become 
mere  reeds  or  rods  of  stone,  those  minor  members  can  no 
longer  be  charged  with  any  considerable  weight.  And  the 
fact  is,  that  in  the  most  complicated  Gothic  arrangements, 
when  the  pier  is  tall  and  its  satellites  stand  clear  of  it,  no  real 
work  is  given  them  to  do,  and  they  might  all  be  removed 
withont  endangering  the  building.  They  are  merely  the  ex¬ 
pression  of  a  great  consistent  system,  and  are  in  architecture 
what  is  often  found  in  animal  anatomy, ^ — a  bone,  or  process  of 
a  bone,  useless,  under  the  ordained  circumstances  of  its  life,  to 
the  particular  animal  in  which  it  is  found,  and  slightly  devel¬ 
oped,  but  yet  distinctly  existent,  and  representing,  for  the  sake 
of  absolute  consistency,  the  same  bone  in  its  appointed,  and 
generally  useful,  place,  either  in  skeletons  of  all  animals,  or  in 
the  genus  to  which  the  animal  itself  belongs. 

§  XXII.  Farther :  as  it  is  not  easy  to  obtain  pieces  of  stone 
long  enough  for  these  supplementary  shafts  (especially  as  it  is 
always  unsafe  to  lay  a  stratified  stone  with  its  beds  upright) 
they  have  been  frequently  composed  of  two  or  more  short 
shafts  set  upon  each  other,  and  to  conceal  the  unsightly  junc¬ 
tion,  a  flat  stone  has  been  inteiqiosed,  carved  into  certain 
mouldings,  which  have  the  aj^iearance  of  a  ring  on  the  shaft. 
Kow  observe :  the  whole  pier  was  the  gathering  of  the  whole 
wall,  the  base  gathers  into  base,  the  veil  into  the  shaft,  and 
the  string  courses  of  the  veil  gather  into  these  rings ;  and 
when  this  is  clearly  expressed,  and  the  rings  do  indeed  corre¬ 
spond  wdth  the  string  courses  of  the  wall  veil,  they  are  per-, 
fectly  admissible  and  even  beautiful ;  but  otherwise,  and 
occurring,  as  they  do  in  the  shafts  of AVestminster,  in  the 
middle  of  continuous  lines,  they  are  but  sorry  make-shifts,  and 
of  late  since  gas  has  been  invented,  have  become  especially 
offensive  from  their  unlucky  resemblance  to  the  joints  of  gas- 
pipes,  or  common  water-pipes.  There  are  two  leaden  ones, 
for  instance,  on  the  left  hand  as  one  enters  the  abbey  at  Poet’s 
Corner,  with  their  solderings  and  funnels  looking  exactly  like 


CONSTRUCTION. 


Yin.  THE  SHAFT. 


rings  and  capitals,  and  most  disrespectfully  mimicking  tlie 
shafts  of  the  abbey,  inside. 

Tims  far  we  have  traced  the  probab'le  conditions  of  shaft 
structure  in  pure  theory ;  I  shall  now  lay  before  the  reader 
a  brief  statement  of  the  facts  of  the  thing  in  time  past  and 
present. 

§  XXIII.  In  the  earliest  and  grandest  shaft  architecture 
which  we  know,  that  of  Egypt,  we  have  no  grouped  arrange¬ 
ments,  properly  so  called,  but  either  single  and  smooth  shafts, 
or  richly  reeded  and  furrowed  shafts,  which  represent  the  ex¬ 
treme  conditions  of  a  complicated  group  bound  together  to 
sustain  a  single  mass ;  and  are  indeed,  without  doubt,  nothing 
else  than  imitations  of  bundles  of  reeds,  or  of  clusters  of  lotus  :* 
but  in  these  shafts  there  is  merely  the  idea  of  a  group,  not  the 
actual  function  or  structure  of  a  group ;  they  are  just  as  much 
solid  and  simple  shafts  as  those  which  are  smooth,  and  merely 
by  the  method  of  their  decoration  present  to  the  eye  the  image 
of  a  richly  complex  arrangement. 

§  XXIV.  After  these  we  have  the  Greek  shaft,  less  in  scale, 
and  losing  all  suggestion  oi-  purpose  of  suggestion  of  complex¬ 
ity,  its  so-called  tiutings  being,  visibly  as  actually,  an  external 
decoration. 

§  XXV.  The  idea  of  the  shaft  remains  absolutely  single  in' 
the  Eonian  and  Eyzantine  mind  5  but  true  groupino^  begins  in 
Christian  architecture  by  the  placing  of  two  or  more  sejxirate 
shafts  side  by  side,  each  having  its  own  work  to  do ;  then  three- 
or  four,  still  with  separate  work ;  then,  by  such  steps  as  those' 
above  theoretically  pursued,  the  number  of  the  members  in-- 
creases,  while  they  coagulate  into  a  single  mass ;  and  we  have 
finally  a  shaft  apparently  composed  of  thirty,  forty,  fifty,  or' 
more  distinct  members;  a  shaft  wdiich,  in  the  reality  of  its 
service,  is  as  much  a  single  shaft  as  the  old  Egyptian  one;  but 
which  differs  from  the  Egyptian  in  that  all  its  members,  how 
many  soever,  have  each  indi\ddual  work  to  do,  and  a  separate 
rib  of  arch  or  roof  to  carry;  and  thus  the  great  Christian 

*  The  capitals  being  formed  by  the  flowers,  or  by  a: representation  of  the- 
bulging  out  of  the  reeds  at  the  top,  under  the  weight  of  t.ie  architrave. 


100 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


CONSTRUCTION 


trutli  of  distinct  services  of  the  individual  sonl  is  typified  in 
tin;  Cliristian  shaft ;  and  the  old  Egyptian  servitude  of  the 
mnltitndes,  the  servitude  inseparal)le  from  the  children  of 
Ham,  is  typified  also  in  that  ancient  shaft  of  the  Egyptians, 
whicli  in  its  gathered  strength  of  the  river  reeds,  seems,  as  the 
sands  of  the  desert  drift  over  its  ruin,  to  be  intended  to  remind 
us  for  ever  of  the  end  of  the  association  of  the  'udched.  “  Can 
the  rush  grow  uj)  without  mire,  or  the  flag  grow  without 
water? — So  are  the  paths  of  all  that  forget  God;  and  the 
hypocrite’s  hope  shall  perish.” 

§  XXVI.  Let  the  reader  then  keep  this  distinction  of  the 
three  systems  clearly  in  his  mind :  Egyptian  sj'stem,  an  ap¬ 
parent  cluster  supporting  a  simple  (iapital  and  single  weight ; 
Greek  and  Ivoman  system,  single  shaft,  single  weight; 
Gothic  system,  divided  shafts,  divided  weiglit :  at  first  actually 
and  simply  divided,  at  last  apparently  and  infinitely  di'dded ; 
so  that  the  fully  formed  Gothic  shaft  is  a  retui’ii  to  the  Egyp¬ 
tian,  hut  the  weight  is  divided  in  the  one  and  undivided  in  tlie 
other. 

§  XXV7T.  The  transition  from  the  actual  to  the  apparent 
cluster,  in  the  Gothic,  is  a  question  of  the  most  cui’ious 
interest;  I  have  thrown  together  the  shaft  sections  in  Plate 
II.  to  illustrate  it,  and  exemplify  what  has  been  generally 
stated  above.* 

1.  The  earliest,  the  most  frequent,  perhaps  the  most  beauti¬ 
ful  of  all  the  groups,  is  also  the  simplest ;  the  two  shafts  ar¬ 
ranged  as  at  h  or  c,  (Fig.  XIY.)  above,  bearing  an  oblong  mass, 
and  substituted  for  the  still  earlier  structure  «,  Fig,  XIY.  In 
Plate  XYII.  (Chap.  XXYII.)  are  three  examples  of  the  transi¬ 
tion  :  the  one  on  the  left,  at  the  top,  is  the  earliest  slno-le- 
shafted  arrangement,  constant  in  the  rough  Ilomanesque 
windows;  a  huge  hammer-shaped  capital  being  emploved  to 
sustain  the  thickness  of  the  wall.  It  was  rapidly  superseded 

*  I  have  not  been  at  the  pains  to  draw  the  complicated  piers  in  this  plate 
with  absolute  exactitude  to  the  scale  of  each :  they  are  accurate  enough  for 
their  purpose ;  those  of  them  respecting  which  we  shall  have  farther  cpies- 
tion  will  be  given  on  a  much  larger  scale. 


t'LANS  OF  PIERS 


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t'  ''■  u0-  -  "  ^  ■  "i  ■ '-vr*. 


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|T  <^'V/i  *ju»  i^adj, 


COKSTRUCTION. 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


101 


]>y  tlie  double  shaft,  as  on  the  riglit  of  it ;  a  very  early  cxainplc 
fi’oiii  the  cloisters  of  the  Diionio,  Yeroiia.  Beneath,  is  a  most 
elaborate  and  jJerfect  one  from  St.  Zeno  of  Yerona,  where  the 
group  is  twice  complicated,  two  shafts  being  used,  both  with 
quatrefoil  sections.  The  plain  double  shaft,  however,  is  by 
far  the  most  frecpient,  both  in  the  Nor  them  and  Southern 
Ci-othic,  but  for  the  most  part  early ;  it  is  very  frequent  in 
cloisters,  and  in  the  singular  one  of  St.  Micliael’s  Mount,  Nor¬ 
mandy,  a  small  pseudo-arcade  runs  along  between  the  pairs  of 
shafts,  a  miniature  aisle.  The  group  is  employed  on  a  mag- 
liilicent  scale,  but  ill  proportioned,  for  the  main  piers  of  the 
apse  of  the  cathedral  of  Coutanees,  its  purpose  being  to  conceal 
one  shaft  behind  the  other,  and  make  it  appear  to  the  spectator 
from  the  nave  as  if  the  apse  were  sustained  l)y  single  shafts,  of 
inordinate  slenderness.  The  attenq)t  is  ill-judged,  and  the  re¬ 
sult  unsatisfactory. 

§  xxviii.  2.  When  these  pairs  of  shafts  come  near  eaefi 
other,  as  frequently  at  the  turnings  of  angles  (Tig.  NYIL), 
the  quadruple  group  results,  Ij  2,  Fig.  XIY.^  of  Fig.  xvn. 
which  the  Lombardic  sculptors  were  excessively  ^ 
b'^nd,  usually  tying  the  shafts  together  in  their  # 
centre,  in  a  lover’s  knot.  They  thus  occur  in 
Idate  Y.,  from  the  Broletto  of  Como ;  at  the 
angle  of  St.  Michele  of  Lucca,  Plate  XXI. ; 
and  in  the  balustrade  of  St.  Mark’s.  This  is  a  group,  how¬ 
ever,  which  I  have  never  seen  used  on  a  large  scale.* 

§  XXIX.  3.  Such  groups,  consolidated  by  a  small  square  in  their 
centre,  form  the  shafts  of  St.  Zeno,  just  spoken  of,  and  figured 
in  Plate  XYII.,  which  are  among  the  most  interesting  pieces 
of  work  I  know  in  Italy.  I  give  their  entire  arrangement  in 
Fig.  XYIII. ;  both  shafts  have  the  same  section,  but  one  re¬ 
ceives  a  half  turn  as  it  ascends,  giving  it  an  exquisite  spiral 
contour :  the  plan  of  their  bases,  with  their  plinth,  is  given  at 
2!  Plate  II. ;  and  note  it  carefully,  for  it  is  an  epitome  of  all 
that  we  observed  above,  respecting  the  oblique  and  even  square. 

*  The  largest  I  remember  support  a  monument  in  St.  Zeno  of  Verona; 
they  are  of  red  marble,  some  ton  or  twelve  feet  high. 


#  CD 


e  9 


102 


Till.  THE  SHAFT. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


It  was  asserted  that  the  oblique  belonged  to  the  north,  the 
even  to  the  soiitli :  we  have  here  the  northern  Lombai*dio 
nation  naturalised  in  Italy,  and,  behold,  the  ob¬ 
lique  and  even  quatrefoil  linked  together;  not 
confused,  but  actually  linked  by  a  bar  of  stone,  as 
seen  in  Plate  XVII.,  under  the  capitals. 

4.  Xext  to  these,  observe  the  two  groups  of 
five  shafts  each,  5  and  G,  Plate  II.,  one  oblique, 
the  other  even.  Both  are  from  upper  stories ; 
the  oblique  one  from  the  triforium  of  Salisbury ; 
the  even  one  from  the  upper  range  of  shafts  in. 
the  facade  of  St.  Mark’s  at  Venice.* 

§  XXX.  Around  these  central  types  are  grouped, 
in  Plate  II.,  four  simple  examples  of  the  satel- 
litic  cluster,  all  of  the  Northern  Gothic  :  4,  from 
the  Cathedral  of  Amiens ;  7,  from  that  of  Lyons 
(nave  pier) ;  8,  the  same  from  Salisbury ;  10, 
from  the  porch  of  Notre  Dame,  Dijon,  having  satellites  of 
three  magnitudes :  9  is  one  of  the  piers  between  the  doom  of 
the  same  church,  with  shafts  of  four  magnitudes,  and  is  an 
instance  of  the  confusion  of  mind  of  the  Northern  architects 
between  piere  proper  and  jamb  mouldings  (noticed  farther  in 
the  next  chapter,  §  xxxi.) :  for  this  fig.  9,  which  is  an  angle 
at  the  meeting  of  two  jambs,  is  treated  like  a  rich  independent 
shaft,  and  the  figure  below,  12,  which  is  half  of  a  true  shaft, 
is  treated  like  a  meeting  of  jambs. 

All  these  four  examples  belonging  to  the  oblique  or  North¬ 
ern  system,  the  curious  trefoil  plan,  3,  lies  hetweeii  the  two,  as 
the  double  quatrefoil  next  it  unites  the  two.  The  trefoil  is 
from  the  Frari,  Venice,  and  has  a  richly  worked  capital  in  the 
Byzantine  manner, — an  imitation.  I  think,  of  the  Byzantine 
work  by  the  Gothic  buildere :  1  is  to  be  compared  with  it, 
being  one  of  the  earliest  conditions  of  the  cross  shaft,  from  the 
atrium  of  St.  Ambrogio  at  Milan.  13  is  the  nave  pier  of  St. 
Michele  at  Pavia,  showing  the  same  condition  more  fully  de- 


Fig.  xvm. 


*  The  effect  of  this  last  is  given  in  Plate  VI.  of  the  folio  series. 


CONSTBUCTION. 


VIII.  THE  SHAFT. 


103 


veloped :  and  11  anotlier  nave  pier  from  Yienne,  on  the  Rhone, 
of  far  more  distinct  Homan  derivation,  for  the  flat  pilaster  is 
set  to  the  nave,  and  is  fluted  like  an  antique  one.  12  is  the 
grandest  development  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  cross  shaft, 
with  satellite  shafts  in  the  nooks  of  it :  it  is  half  of  one  of 
the  great  western  piers  of  the  cathedral  of  Boiirges,  measuring 
eight  feet  each  side,  thirty-two  round. Then  the  one  below 
(15)  is  half  of  a  nave  pier  of  Rouen  Cathedral,  showing  the 
mode  in  which  such  conditions  as  that  of  Dijon  (0)  and  that  of 
Bourges  (12)  were  fused  together  into  forms  of  inextricable 
complexity  (inextricable  I  mean  in  the  irregularity  of  propor¬ 
tion  and  projection,  for  all  of  them  are  easily  resolvable  into 
simple  systems  in  connexion  with  the  roof  ribs).  This  pier 
of  Rouen  is  a  type  of  the  last  condition  of  the  good  Gothic ; 
from  this  point  the  small  shafts  begin  to  lose  shape,  and  run 
into  narrow  Allots  and  ridges,  projecting  at  the  same  time 
farther  and  farther  in  weak  tongue-like  sections,  as  described 
in  the  “Seven  Lamps.”  I  have  only  here  given  one  example 
of  this  family,  an  unimportant  but  sufficiently  characteristic 
one  (16)  from  St.  Gervais  of  Falaise.  One  side  of  the  nave  of 
that  church  is  Norman,  the  other  Flamboyant,  and  the  two 
piers  14  and  16  stand  opposite  each  other.  It  w'ould  be  useless 
to  endeavor  to  trace  farther  the  fantasticism  of  the  later 
Gothic  shafts ;  they  become  mere  aggregations  of  mouldings 
very  sharply  and  finely  cut,  their  bases  at  the  same  time  run¬ 
ning  together  in  strange  complexity  and  their  capitals  diniinisli- 
ing  and  disappearing.  Some  of  their  conditions,  which,  in  their 
rich  striation,  resemble  crystals  of  beryl,  are  very  massy  and 
grand ;  others,  meagre,  harsh,  or  effeminate  in  themselves,  are 
redeemed  by  richness  and  boldness  of  decoration ;  and  I  have 
long  had  it  in  my  mind  to  reason  out  the  entire  harmony  of 
this  French  Flamboyant  system,  and  fix  its  types  and  possible 

*  The  entire  development  of  this  cross  system  in  connexion  with  the 
vaulting  ribs,  has  been  most  clearly  explained  by  Professor  Willis  (Archi¬ 
tecture  of  Mid.  Ages,  Chap.  IV.);  and  I  strongly  recommend  every  reader 
■w  ho  is  inclined  to  take  pains  in  the  matter,  to  read  that  chapter.  I  have 
been  contented,  in  my  own  text,  to  pursue  the  abstract  idea  of  shaft  form. 


104 


Tin.  THE  SKAET. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


power.  But  tliis  inquiry  is  foreign  altogether  to  our  present 
purpose,  and  we  shall  therefore  turn  back  from  the  Flamboyant 
to  the  hlorman  side  of  the  Falaise  aisle,  resolute  for  the  future 
that  all  shafts  of  which  we  may  have  the  ordering,  shall  be 
permitted,  as  with  wisdom  we  may  also  permit  men  or  cities, 
to  gather  themselves  into  companies,  or  constellate  themselves 
into  clusters,  but  not  to  fuse  themselves  into  mere  masses  of 
nebulous  aggregation. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  CAPITAL. 

§  I.  The  reader  will  remember  that  in  Chap.  YII.  §  v.  it 
was  said  that  the  cornice  of  tlie  wall,  being  cut  to  pieces  and 
gathered  together,  formed  the  capital  of  the  column.  We 
have  now  to  follow  it  in  its  transformation. 

We  must,  of  course,  take  our  simplest  form  or  root  of  cor¬ 
nices  (a,  in  Fig.  V.,  above).  We  will  take  X  and  Y  there,  and 
we  must  necessarily  gather  them  together  as  we  did  Xb  and  Yb 
in  Chap.  YII.  Look  back  to  the  tenth  paragraph  of  Chap. 
YII.,  read  or  glance  it  over  again,  substitute  X  and  Y  for  Xb 
and  Yb,  read  capital  for  base,  and,  as  we  said  that  the  capital 
was  the  hand  of  the  pillar,  while  the  base  was  its  foot,  read 
also  fingers  for  toes ;  and  as  you  look  to  the  plate.  Fig.  XII., 
turn  it  upside  down.  Then  A,  in  Fig.  XII.,  becomes  now  your 
best  general  form  of  block  capital,  as  before  of  block  base. 

§  II.  You  will  thus  have  a  perfect  idea  of  the  analogies 
between  base  and  capital ;  our  farther  inquiry  is  into  their 
differences.  You  cannot  but  have  noticed  that  when  Fig.  XII. 
is  turned  upside  down,  the  square  stone  (Y)  looks  too  heavy 
for  the  supporting  stone  (X) ;  and  that  in  the  profile  of  cornice 
(a  of  Fig.  Y.)  the  proportions  are  altogether  different.  You 
will  feel  the  fitness  of  this  in  an  instant  when  you  consider 
that  the  j)rincipal  function  of  the  sloping  part  in  Fig.  XII.  is 
as  a  prop  to  the  pillar  to  keep  it  from  slijpimKj  aside  /  but  the 
function  of  the  sloping  stone  in  the  cornice  and  capital  is  to 
carry  weight  above.  The  thrust  of  the  slope  in  the  one  case 
should  therefore  be  lateral,  in  the  other  upwards. 

§  HI.  We  will,  therefore,  take  the  two  figures,  e  and  A  of 
Fig.  XII.,  and  make  this  change  in  them  as  we  reverse  them. 


.106 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


using  now  tlie  exact  profile  of  the  cornice  — the  father  of 
cornices ;  and  we  shall  thus  have  a  and  Fig.  XIX. 


X 


Both  of  these  are 
sufficiently  ugly, 
the  reader  thinks; 
so  do  I ;  but  we 
will  mend  them  be¬ 
fore  we  have  done 
with  them  :  that  at 
a  is  assuredly  the 
ugliest, — like  a  tile 
on  a  flower-pot.  It 
is,  nevertheless,  the 
father  of  capitals ; 
being  the  simnlest 

O  X 

condition  of  the 
gathered  father  of 
cornices.  But  it  is 
to  be  observed  that 
the  diameter  of  the 
shaft  here  is  arbi¬ 
trarily  assumed  to 
be  small,  in  order 
more  clearly  to 
show  the  general 
relations  of  the  slo¬ 
ping  stone  to  the 
shaft  and  upper 
stone ;  and  this 
smallness  of  the 

shaft  diameter  is  inconsistent  with  the  serviceableness  and  beau- 
ty  of  the  arrangement  at  a,  if  it  were  to  be  realised  (as  we  shall 
see  presently) ;  but  it  is  not  inconsistent  with  its  central  charac¬ 
ter,  as  the  rejiresentative  of  every  species  of  possible  capital ; 
nor  is  its  tile  and  flower-pot  look  to  be  regretted,  as  it  may 
remind  the  reader  of  the  repoifed  origin  of  the  Corinthian 
capital.  The  stones  of  the  cornice,  hitherto  called  X  and  Y, 


CONSTRUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


lo: 

receive,  now  that  they  form  the  capital,  each  a  separate  name ; 
the  sloping  stone  is  called  the  Bell  of  the  capital,  and  that  laid 
above  it,  the  Abacus.  Abacus  means  a  board  or  tile :  I  wish 
there  were  an  iTnglish  word  for  it,  but  I  fear  there  is  no  substi¬ 
tution  possible,  the  term  having  been  long  tixed,  and  the  reader 
will  find  it  convenient  to  familiarise  himself  with  the  Latin 
one. 

§  IV.  The  form  of  base,  e  of  Fig.  XII.,  which  corresponds 
to  this  first  form  of  capital,  a,  was  said  to  be  objectionable  only 
because  it  looked  insecure  ;  and  the  spurs  were  added  as  a  kind 
of  pledge  of  stability  to  the  eye.  But  evidently  the  jirojecting 
corners  of  the  abacus  at  Fig.  XIX.,  are  actually  insecure ; 
they  may  break  off,  if  great  weight  be  laid  upon  them.  This 
is  the  chief  reason  of  the  ugliness  of  the  form ;  and  the  spurs 
in  1)  are  now  no  mere  pledges  of  apparent  stability,  but  have 
very  serious  practical  use  in  cupporting  the  angle  of  the  abacus. 
If,  even  with  the  added  spur,  the  support  seems  insufficient, 
we  may  fill  up  the  crannies  between  the  sjiurs  and  the  bell, 
and  we  have  the  foian  c. 

Thus  n,  though  the  germ  and  tyjie  of  capitals,  is  itself 
(except  under  some  peculiar  conditions)  both  ugly  and  insecure ; 
1)  is  the  first  type  of  capitals  which  carry  light  weight ;  c,  of 
capitals  which  carry  excessive  weight. 

§  V.  I  fear,  howe\'er,.the  reader  may  think  he  is  going 
slightly  too  fast,  and  may  not  like  having  the  capital  forced 
upon  him  out  of  the  cornice;  but  would  prefer  inventing  a 
capital  for  the  shaft  itself,  without  reference  to  the  cornice  at 
all.  W  e  will  do  so  then ;  though  we  shall  come  to  the  same 
result. 

The  shaft,  it  will  be  remembered,  has  to  sustain  the  same 
weight  as  the  long  piece  of  wall  which  was  concentrated  into 
the  shaft ;  it  is  enabled  to  do  this  both  by  its  better  form  and 
better  knit  materials ;  and  it  can  carry  a  greater  weight  than 
the  space  at  the  top  of  it  is  adapted  to  receive.  The  fii’st  point, 
therefore,  is  to  expand  this  space  as  far  as  possible,  and  that  in 
a  form  more  convenient  than  the  circle  for  the  adjustment  of 
the  stones  above.  In  general  the  square  is  a  more  convenient 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


:o8 


Fig.  XX. 


form  tlian  any  other ;  bnt  the  hexagon  or  octagon  is  sometimes 
better  fitted  for  masses  of  work  which  divide  in  six  or  eight 
diiections.  Then  our  first  impulse  would  be  to  put  a  square 

or  hexagonal  stone  on  the  top  of  the 
shaft,  projecting  as  far  beyond  it  as 
might  be  safely  ventured  ;  as  at  Fig. 
XX.  This  is  the  abacus.  Our  next  idea 
would  be  to  put  a  conical  shaped  stone 
beneath  this  abacus,  to  support  its  outer 
edge,  as  at  h.  This  is  the  bell. 

§  VI.  Now  the  entii-e  treatment  of  the 
capital  depends  simply  on  the  manner  in 
which  this  bell-stone  is  prepared  for  fit¬ 
ting  the  shaft  below  and  the  abacus  above. 
Placed  as  at  u,  in  Fig.  XIX.,  it  gives  us 
the  simplest  of  possible  forms ;  with  the 
spurs  added,  as  at  h,  it  gives  the  germ  of 
the  richest  and  most  elaborate  forms  :  but 


- - — ,  IL/Lt-U 

there  are  two  modes  of  treatment  more  dexterous  than  the  one, 
and  less  elaborate  than  the  other,  which  are  of  the  highest 
possible  inqiortance,  modes  in  which  the  bell  is  brought  to  its 
proper  form  by  truncation. 

§  vir.  Let  d  andy.  Fig.  XIX.,  be  two  bell-stones ;  d  is  part 
of  a  cone  (a  sugar-loaf  upside  down,  with  its  point  cut  off) ;  / 
part  of  a  four-sided  pyi-amid.  Then,  assuming  the  abacus  to 
be  square,  d  will  already  fit  the  shaft,  but  has^  to  be  chiselled 
to  fit  the  abacus; /will  already  fit  the  abacus,  but  has  to  be 
chiselled  to  fit  the  shaft. 

From  the  broad  end  of  d  chop  or  chisel  off,  in  four  vertical 
planes,  as  much  as  will  leave  its  head  an  exact  square.  The^ 
Vertical  cuttings  will  form  curves  on  the  sides  of  the  cone 
(curves  of  a  curious  kind,  which  the  reader  need  not  be  troubled 
to  examine),  and  we  shall  have  the  form  at  which  is  the  root 
of  the  greater  number  of  Norman  capitals. 

From/ cut  off  the  angles,  beginning  at  the  corners  of  the 
square  and  widening  the  truncation  downwards,  so  as  to  give 
the  foim  at  y,  where  the  base  of  the  bell  is  an  octagon,  and  its 


COKSTKUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


109 


top  remains  a  square.  A  very  sliglit  rounding  away  of  tlie 
angles  of  tlie  octagon  at  tlie  base  of  g  will  enable  it  to  tit  tlie 
circular  shaft  closely  enough  for  all  practical  purposes,  and  this 
form,  at  y,  is  the  root  of  nearly  all  Lombardic  capitals. 

If,  instead  of  a  square,  the  head  of  the  bell  were  hexagonal 
or  octagonal,  the  operation  of  cutting  would  be  the  same  on 
each  angle  ;  but  there  would  be  produced,  of  course,  six  or 
eight  curves  on  the  sides  of  and  twelve  or  sixteen  sides  to 
the  base  of  g. 

§  VIII.  The  truncations  in  e  and  ^/may  of  course  be  executed 
on  concave  or  convex  forms  of  d  and  f but  e  is  usually 
woj’ked  on  a  straiffht-sided  bell,  and  the 

^  ’  Fig.  XXT. 

truncation  of  g  often  becomes  concave 
while  the  bell  remains  straight ;  for  this 
simple  reason, — that  the  sharp  points  at  the 
angles  of  y,  being  somewhat  difficult  to  cut, 
and  easily  broken  off,  are  usually  avoided 
by  beginning  the  truncation  a  little  way 
down  the  side  of  the  bell,  and  then  recover¬ 
ing  the  lost  ground  by  a  deeper  cut  inwards,  as  here,  Fig.  XXT. 
This  is  the  actual  form  of  the  capitals  of  the  balustrades  of  St. 
Mark’s  :  it  is  the  root  of  all  the  Byzantine  Arab  capitals,  and 
of  all  the  most  beautiful  capitals  in  the  world,  whose  function 
is  to  express  lightness. 

§  IX.  W e  have  hitherto  proceeded  entirely  on  the  assumption 
that  the  form  of  cornice  which  was  gathered  together  to  pro¬ 
duce  the  capital  was  the  root  of  cornices,  a  of  Fig.  Y.  But 
this,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  said  in  §  vi.  of  Chap,  YI.  to 
be  especially  characteristic  of  southern  work,  and  that  in  north¬ 
ern  and  wet  climates  it  took  the  form  of  a  dripstone. 

Accordingly,  in  the  northern  climates,  the  dripstone  gather¬ 
ed  together  forms  a  peculiar  northern  capital,  commonly  called 
the  Early  English,*  owing  to  its  especial  use  in  that  style. 

There  would  have  been  no  absurdity  in  this  if  shafts  were 
always  to  be  exposed  to  the  weather  ;  but  in  Gothic  construc- 


*  Appendix  19,  “  Early  English  Capitals.” 


110 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


tioRS  tlie  most  important  sliafts  are  in  the  inside  of  the  build- 
ing.  The  dripstone  sections  of  their  capitals  are  therefore  im- 
aecessary  and  ridiculous. 

§  X.  They  are,  however,  much  worse  than  unnecessary. 

The  edge  of  the  dripstone,  being  undercut,  has  no  bearing 
power,  and  the  capital  fails,  therefore,  in 
its  own  principal  function ;  and  besides 
this,  the  undercut  contour  admits  of  no 
distinctly  visible  decoration  ;  it  is,  there¬ 
fore,  left  utterly  bari’en,  and  the  capital 
looks  as  if  it  had  been  turned  in  a  lathe. 
The  Early  English  capital  has,  therefore, 
the  three  greatest  faults  that  any  design 
can  have  :  (1)  it  fails  in  its  own  proper 
purpose,  that  of  support ;  (2)  it  is  adapted 
to  a  purpose  to  which  it  can  never  be  put, 
that  of  keeping  otf  rain ;  (3)  it  cannot  be 
decorated. 

The  Early  English  capital  is,  therefore, 
a  bai'liarism  of  triple  grossness,  and  de¬ 
grades  the  style  in  wdiich  it  is  found, 
otherwise  very  noble,  to  one  of  second-rate 
order. 

§  XI.  Dismissing,  therefore,  the  Early 
English  capital,  as  deserving  no  i)lace  in 
our_  system,  let  us  reassemble  in  one  view 
the  forms  which  have  been  legitimately 
developed,  and  which  are  to  become  here¬ 
after  subjects  of  decoration.  To  the  forms 
a,  h,  and  c,  Eig.  XIX.,  we  must  add  the 
two  simplest  truncated  forms  e  and  y.  Fig. 
XIX.,  putting  their  abaci  on  them  (as  we 
considered  their  contours  in  the  bells  only), 
a',  d  we  shall  have  the  five  forms  now  given  in  parallel  per¬ 
spective  in  Fig.  XXII.,  which  are  the  roots  of  all  good  capi¬ 
ta's  existing,  or  capable  of  existence,  and  whose  variations, 
infinite  and  a  thousand  times  infinite,  are  all  produced  by 


CONSTRUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


in 


introduction  of  various  curvatures  into  tlieir  contours,  and  tlie 
endless  metliods  of  decoration  superinduced  on  sucli  curva¬ 
tures. 

§  XII.  There  is,  however,  a  kind  of  variation,  also  infinite, 
which  takes  place  in  these  radical  forms,  before  they  receive 
either  curvature  or  decoration.  This  is  the  variety  of  propoi*' 
tion  borne  by  the  ditfei’ent  lines  of  the  capital  to  each  othei, 
and  to  the  shafts.  This  is  a  structural  question,  at  present  to 
be  considered  as  far  as  is  possible. 

§  XIII.  All  the  five  capitals  (which  are  indeed  five  orders 
with  legitii^ate  distinction  ;  very  different,  however,  from  the 


Fig.  xxiu. 


five  orders  as  commonly  understood)  may  be  represented  by 
the  same  profile,  a  section  through  the  sides  of  a,  h,  d,  and  p, 
or  through  the  angles  of  c,  Fig.  XXII.  This  profile  we  will 
put  on  the  top  of  a  shaft,  as  at  A,  Fig.  XXIII.,  which  shaft 
we  will  suppose  of  equal  diameter  above  and  below  for  the 
sake  of  greater  simplicity  :  in  this  simplest  condition,  how¬ 
ever,  relations  of  proportion  exist  between  five  quantities,  any 
on^,  or  any  two,  or  any  three,  or  any  four  of  which  may  change, 
ir”  'spective  of  the  others.  These  five  quantities  are  : 

1.  The  height  of  the  shaft,  a  h  / 

2.  Its  diameter,  J  c  / 


112 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


3.  Tlie  lengtli  of  slope  of  bell,  Id; 

4.  The  inclination  of  tliis  slope,  or  angle  cl  d ; 

5.  The  depth  of  abacus,  d  e. 

For  every  change  in  any  one  of  these  quantities  we  have 
a  new  proportion  of  capital :  live  ijitinities,  supposing  change 
only  in  one  quantity  at  a  time  r  inhnity  of  inhnities  in  the  sum 
of  possible  changes. 

It  is,  therefore,  only  possible  to  note  the  general  laws  of 
change  j  every  scale  of  pillar,  and  every  weight  laid  upon  it 
admitting,  within  certain  limits,  a  variety  out  of  which  the 
aichitect  has  his  choice  ;  but  yet  fixing  limits  which  the  pro¬ 
portion  becomes  ugly  when  it  approaches,  and  dangerous 
when  it  exceeds.  But  the  inquiry  into  this  subject  is  too 
difllcult  for  the  general  reader,  and  I  shall  content  myself  with 
proving  four  laws,  easily  understood  and  generally  applicable ; 
for  proof  of  which  if  the  said  reader  care  not,  he  may  miss  the 
next  four  paragrajihs  without  harm. 

§  XIV.  1.  The  more  slender  the  shaft,  the  greater,  propo?'- 
tionally,  may  he  the  yorojectlon  of  the  abacus.  For,  looking 
back  to  Fig.  XXIII.,  let  the  height  «  5  be  fixed,  the  length 
d  h,  the  angle  die,  and  the  depth  d  e.  Let  the  single  quantity 
I  c  ha  variable,  let  B  be  a  capital  and  shaft  which  are  found  to 
be  perfectly  safe  in  proportion  to  the  weight  they  bear,  and 
let  the  weight  be  equally  distributed  over  the  whole  of  the 
abacus.  Then  this  weight  may  be  represented  by  any  number 
of  equal  divisions,  suppose  four,  as  I,  m,  n,  r,  of  brickwork 
above,  of  which  each  division  is  one  fourth  of  the  whole 
V  eight ,  and  let  this  weight  be  placed  in  the  most  trying  way 
on  the  abacus,  that  is  to  say,  let  the  masses  I  and  r  be  detached 
from  m  and  n,  and  bear  with  their  full  weight  on  the  outside  of 
the  capital.  We  assume,  in  B,  that  the  width  of  abacus  e/is 
twice  as  great  as  that  of  the  shaft,  I  c,  and  on  these  conditions 
we  assume  the  capital  to  be  safe. 

But  5  c  is  allowed  to  be  variable.  Let  it  become  \  Cg  ‘h,  C, 
which  is  a  length  representing  about  the  diameter  of  a  shaft 
containing  half  the  substance  of  the  shaft  B,  and,  therefore, 
able  to  sustain  not  more  than  half  the  weight  sustained  by  B. 


CONSTEUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


113 


But  tlie  slope  h  d  and  deptli  d  6  remaining  unclianged,  we  have 
the  capital  of  C,  which  we  are  to  load  with  only  half  the 
weight  of  I,  m,  n,  r,  i.  e.,  with  I  and  r  alone.  Therefore  the 
weight  of  I  and  r,  now  represented  hy  the  masses  Zg,  ^2?  is  dis¬ 
tributed  over  the  whole  of  the  capital.  But  the  weight  r  was 
adequately  supported  by  the  projecting  piece  of  the  first  capi¬ 
tal  A/*  c.*  much  more  is  it  now  adequately  supported  by^i/o 
C2.  Therefore,  if  the  capital  of  B  was  safe,  that  of  C  is 
more  than  safe.  Now  in  B  the  length  ef  was  only  twice  h  e , 
but  in  C,  €2  f2  will  be  found  more  than  twice  that  of  hi  Ci- 
Therefore,  the  more  slender  the  shaft,  the  greater  may  be  the 
proportional  excess  of  the  abacus  over  its  diameter. 

§  XV.  2.  The  smaller  the  scale  of  the  huilding,  the  greater 
may  he  the  excess  of  the  abacus  over  the  diameter  of  the  shaft. 
This  principle  requires,  I  think,  no  very  lengthy  proof :  the 
reader  can  understand  at  once  that  the  cohesion  and  strength 
of  stone  which  can  sustain  a  small  projecting  mass,  will  not 
sustain  a  vast  one  overhanging  in  the  same  proportion.  A 
bank  even  of  loose  earth,  six  feet  high,  will  sometimes  over¬ 
hang  its  base  a  foot  or  two,  as  you  may  see-  any  day  in  the 
gravelly  banks  of  the  lanes  of  Hampstead :  but  make  the  baidc 
of  gravel,  equally  loose,  six  hundred  feet  high,  and  see  if  you 
can  get  it  to  overhang  a  hundred  or  two !  much  more  if  there 

Fig.  XXIV. 

1 


B 

be  weight  above  it  increased  in  the  same  proportion.  Hence, 
let  any  capitid  be  given,  whose  projection  is  just  safe,  and  no 
more,  on  its  existing  scale ;  increase  its  proportions  every  way 
equally,  though  ever  so  little,  and  it  is  unsafe  ;  diminish  them 
equally,  and  it  becomes  safe  in  the  exact  degree  of  the  dimi¬ 
nution. 


114 


IXc  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION, 


Let,  tlien,  the  quantity  e  d,  and  angle  d  5  <?,  at  A  of  Fig. 
XXIII.,  he  invariable,  and  let  the  length  d  h  vary  :  then  we 
shall  have  such  a  series  of  forms  as  may  be  represented  by 
a,  J,  c.  Fig.  XXIY.,  of  which  (2  is  a  proportion  for  a  colossal 
building,  h  for  a  moderately  sized  building,  while  g  could  only 
be  admitted  on  a  very  small  scale  indeed. 

§  XVI.  3.  The  greater  the  excess  of  abacus^  the  steeper  must 
he  the  slope  of  the  hell^  the  shaft  diameter  being  constant. 

This  will  evidently  follow  from  the  considerations  in  the 
last  paragraph  ;  supposing  only  that,  instead  of  the  scale  of 
shaft  and  capital  varying  together,  the  scale  of  the  capital  varies 
alone.  For  it  will  then  still  be  true,  that,  if  the  projection  of 

the  capital  be  just  safe  on  a  given  scale, 
as  its  excess  over  the  shaft  diameter 
increases,  the  projection  will  be  unsafe, 
if  the  slope  of  the  bell  remain  constant. 
But  it  may  be  rendered  safe  by  making 
this  slope  steeper,  and  so  increasing  its 
supporting  power. 

Thus  let  the  capital  a,  Fig.  XXY., 
he  just  safe.  Then  the  capital  h,  in 
which  the  slope  is  the  same  but  the 
excess  greater,  is  unsafe.  But  the  capi¬ 
tal  <?,  in  which,  though  the  excess  equals 
that  of  h,  the  steepness  of  the  support¬ 
ing  slope  is  increased,  will  be  as  safe  as 
h,  and  probably  as  strong  as  a.^ 

§  xvn,  4.  The  steeper  the  slope  of  the  hell,  the  thhmer  may 
he  the  abacus. 

Tlie  use  of  the  abacus  is  eminently  to  equalise  the  pressure 
over  the  surface  of  the  bell,  so  that  the  -height  may  not  by 
any  accident  be  directed  exclusively  upon  its  edges.  In  pro- 
])ortion  to  the  strength  of  these  edges,  this  function  of  the 
abacus  is  superseded,  and  these  edges  are  strong  in  proportion 

*  In  this  c.ase  the  weight  borne  is  supposed  to  increase  as  the  abacus 
widens  ;  the  illustration  would  have  been  clearer  if  I  had  assumed  the 
breadth  of  abacus  to  be  constant,  and  that  of  the  shaft  to  vary. 


Fig.  XXV. 

f 


a 


CONSTRUCTION. 


IX.  THE  OAPITAL. 


115 


to  the  steepness  of  the  slope.  Tims  in  Fig.  XXYI.,  the  bei^ 
at  a  would  carry  weight  safely  enough  without  any  abacus, 
but  that  at  c  would  not :  it  would  pro¬ 
bably  have  its  edges  broken  off.  The 
abacus  superimposed  might  be  on  a 
very  thin,  little  more  than  formal,  as  at 
h  /  but  on  c  must  be  thick,  as  at  d. 

§  XVIII.  These  four  rules  are  all  that 
are  necessary  for  general  criticism ;  and 
observe  that  these  are  only  semi-impera¬ 
tive, — rules  of  permission,  not  of  com¬ 
pulsion.  Thus  Law  1  asserts  that  the 

slender  shaft  may  have  greater  excess  of  capital  than  the 
thick  shaft ;  but  it  need  not,  unless  the  architect  chooses  ;  his 
thick  shafts  must  have  small  excess,  but  his  slender  ones 
need  not  have  large.  So  Law  2  says,  that  as'  the  building  is 
smaller,  the  excess  may  be  greater  ;  but  it  need  not,  for  the 
excess  which  is  safe  in  the  large  is  still  safer  in  the  small.  So 
Law  3  says  that  capitals  of  great  excess  must  have  steep 
slopes ;  but  it  does  not  say  that  capitals  of  small  excess  may 
not  have  steep  slopes  also,  if  we  choose.  And  lastly.  Law  4 
asserts  the  necessity  of  the  thick  abacus  for  the  shallow  bell ; 
but  the  steep  bell  may  have  a  thick  abacus  also. 

§  XIX.  It  will  be  found,  however,  that  in  practice  some  con 
fession  of  these  laws  will  always  be  useful,  and  especially  oi 
the  two  first.  The  eye  always  requires,  on  a  slender  shaft,  a 
more  spreading  capital  than  it  does  on  a  massy  one,  and  a 
bolder  mass  of  capital  on  a  small  scale  than  on  a  large.  And, 
in  the  application  of  the  first  rule,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  a  shaft 
becomes  slender  either  by  diminution  of  diameter  or  increase 
of  height ;  that  either  mode  of  change  presupposes  the  weight 
above  it  diminished,  and  requires  an  expansion  of  abacus.  I 
know  no  mode  of  spoiling  a  noble  building  more  frequent  in 
actual  practice  than  the  imposition  of  flat  and  slightly  ex¬ 
panded  capitals  on  tall  shafts. 

§  XX.  The  reader  must  observe,  also,  that,  in  the  demonstra¬ 
tion  of  the  four  laws,  I  always  assumed  the  weight  above  to  be 


116 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


constpdct:o;t. 


given.  By  the  alteration  of  this  weight,  therefore,  the  archi¬ 
tect  has  it  in  his  power  to  relieve,  and  therefore  alter,  the  forms 
of  his  capitals.  By  its  warions  distribution  on  their  centres  or 
edges,  the  slope  of  their  bells  and  thickness  of  abaci  will  be 
affected  also  ;  so  that  he  has  countless  expedients  at  his  com¬ 
mand  for  the  various  treatment  of  his  design.  He  can  divide 
his  weights  among  more  shafts  ;  he  can  throw  them  in  different 
places  and  different  directions  on  the  abaci ;  he  can  alter  slope 
of  bells  or  diameter  of  shafts  ;  he  can  use  s])urred  or  plain  bells, 
thin  or  thick  abaci ;  and  ail  these  changes  admitting  of  intinity 
in  their  degrees,  and  infinity  a  thousand  times  told  in  their 
relations :  and  all  this  without  reference  to  decoration,  merely 
with  the  five  forms  of  block  capital ! 

§  XXI.  In  the  harmony  of  these  arrangements,  in  their  fit¬ 
ness,  unity,  and  accuracy,  lies  the  true  proportion  of  every 
building, — proportion  utterly  endless  in  its  infinities  of  change, 
wdth  unchanged  beauty.  And  yet  this  connexion  of  the  frame 
of  their  building  into  one  harmony  has,  1  believe,  never  been 
so  much  as  dreamed  of  by  architects.  It  has  been  instinctively 
done  in  some  degree  by  many,  empirically  in  some  degree  by 
many  more ;  thouglitfully  and  thoroughly,  I  believe,  hj  none. 

§  XXII.  AYe  have  hitherto  considered  the  abacus  as  necessa¬ 
rily  a  separate  stone  from  the  bell :  evidently,  however,  the 
strength  of  the  capital  will  he  undiminished  if  both  arc  cut  out 
of  one  block.  This  is  actually  the  case  in  many  capitals,  espe¬ 
cially  those  on  a  small  scale ;  and  in  others  the  detached  upper 
stone  is  a  mere  representative  of  the  abacus,  and  is  much  thin¬ 
ner  than  the  form  of  the  capital  requires,  while  the  true  abacus 
is  united  with  the  bell,  and  concealed  by  its  decoration,  or 
made  part  of  it. 

§  XXIII.  Farther.  We  have  hitherto  considered  bell  and 
abacus  as  both  derived  from  the  concentration  of  the  cornice. 
But  it  must  at  once  occur  to  the  reader,  that  the  projection  of 
the  under  stone  and  the  thickness  of  the  upper,  which  are  quite 
enough  for  the  work  of  the  continuous  cornice,  may  not  be 
enough  always,  or  rather  are  seldom  likely  to  be  so,  for  the 
harder  work  of  the  capital.  Both  may  have  to  be  deepened 


CONSTRUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


117 


and  expanded  :  but  as  tliis  would  cause  a  want  of  liarmonj  in 
the  parts,  when  they  occur  on  the  same  level,  it  is  better  in 
such  case  to  let  the  entire  cornice  form  the  abacus  of  the  capi¬ 
tal,  and  put  a  deep  capital  bell  beneath  it. 

§  XXIV.  The  reader  will  understand  both  arrangements  in¬ 
stantly  by  two  examples.  Fig.  XXYII.  represents  two  windows, 
more  than  usually  beautiful 
examples  of  a  very  frequent 
Venetian  form.  Here  the 
deep  cornice  or  string  course 
which  runs  along  the  wall 
of  the  house  is  quite  strong 
enouo;h  for  the  work  of  the 
capitals  of  the  slender  shafts : 
its  own  upper  stone  is  there¬ 
fore  also  theirs  ;  its  own  lower 
stone,  by  its  revolution  or 
concentration,  forms  their 
bells :  but  to  mai'k  the  inci’eas- 
ed  inqiortance  of  its  function 
in  so  doing,  it  receives  deco¬ 
ration,  as  tlie  bell  of  the  cap¬ 
ital,  which  it  did  not  receive 
as  the  under  stone  of  the  cor¬ 
nice. 

In  Fig.  XXVIII.,  a  little  bit  of  the  church  of  Santa  Fosca 
at  Torcello,  the  cornice  or  string  course,  wliich’goes  round 
every  part  of  the  church,  is  not  strong  enough  to  form  the 
capitals  of  the  shafts.  It  therefore  fonns  their  abaci  only ; 
and  in  order  to  mark  the  diminished  importance  of  its  func¬ 
tion,  it  ceases  to  receive,  as  the  abacus  of  the  capital,  the 
decoration  which  it  received  as  the  string  course  of  the- 
wall. 

This  last  arrangement  is  of  great  frequency  in  Venice, 
occurring  most  characteristically  in  St.  Mark’s and  In  the 
Gothic  of  St  John  and  Paul  we  find  the  two  arrangements 
beautifully  united,  though  in  great  sunplicityy  the  string 


Fig.  xxvn. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTRUCTION 


xl8 


I 

courses  of  tlie  walls  form  tlie  capitals  of  the  shafts  of  the  tra¬ 
ceries,  and  the  abaci  of  the  vaulting  shafts  of  the  apse. 


Fig.  xxvin. 


§  XXV.  We  have  hitherto  spoken  of  capitals  of  circular 
shafts  only :  those  of  square  piers  are  more  frequently  formed 
by  the  cornice  only ;  otherwise  they  are  like  those  of  circular 
piers,  without  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  the  base  of  the  bell 
with  its  head. 

§  XXVI.  When  two  or  more  shafts  are  grouped  together, 
their  capitals  are  usually  treated  as  separate,  until  they  come 
into  actual  contact.  If  there  be  any  awkwardness  in  the 
junction,  it  is  concealed  by  the  decoration,  and  one  abacus 
serves,  in  most  cases,  for  all.  The  double  group.  Fig.  XXYII., 
is  the  simplest  possible  type  of  the  arrangement.  In  the  richer 
Xorthern  Gothic  groups  of  eighteen  or  twenty  shafts  cluster 
together,  and  sometimes  the  smaller  shafts  crouch  under  the 
capitals  of  the  larger,  and  hide  their  heads  in  the  crannies,  with 
small  nominal  abaci  of  their  own,  while  the  larger  shafts  carry 
the  serviceable  abacus  of  the  whole  pier,  as  in  the  nave  of  Fou- 
en.  There  is,  however,  evident  sacrifice  of  sound  principle  in 
this  system,  the  smaller  abaci  being  of  no  use.  They  are  the 
exact  contrary  of  the  rude  early  abacus  at  Milan,  given  in  Plate 


CONSTRUCTION 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


IID 


XVII.  There  one  poor  abacus  stretched  itself  out  to  do  all  the 
work :  here  there  are  idle  abaci  getting  up  into  corners  and 
doing  none. 

§  XXVII.  Finally,  we  have  considered  the  capital  hitherto 
entirely  as  an  expansion  of  the  bearing  power  of  the  shaft, 
siipjiosing  the  shaft  composed  of  a  single  stone.  But,  evidently, 
the  capital  has  a  function,  if  possible,  yet  more  important, 
when  the  shaft  is  composed  of  small  masonry.  It  enables  all 
that  masonry  to  act  together,  and  to  receive  the  pressure  from 
above  collectively  and  with  a  single  strength.  And  thus,  con¬ 
sidered  merely  as  a  large  stone  set  on  the  top  of  the  shaft,  it  is 
a  feature  of  the  highest  architectural  importance,  irrespective 
of  its  expansion,  which  indeed  is,  in  some  very  noble  capitals, 
exceedingly  small.  And  thus  every  large  stone  set  at  any 
imjiortant  point  to  reassemble  the  force  of  smaller  masonry  and 
prepare  it  for  the  sustaining  of  weight,  is  a  capital  or  “  head  ” 
stone  (the  true  meaning  of  the  word)  whether  it  project  or  not. 
Tims  at  6,  in  Plate  lY.,  the  stones  which  support  the  thrust  of 
the  brickwork  are  capitals,  which  have  no  projection  at  all ; 
and  the  large  stones  in  the  window  above  are  capitals  projecting 
in  one  direction  only. 

§  XXVIII.  The  reader  is  now  master  of  all  he  need  know 
respecting  construction  of  capitals;  and  from  what  has  been 
laid  before  him,  must  assuredly  feel  that  there  can  never  be 
any  new  system  of  architectural  forms  invented  ;  but  that  all 
vertical  support  must  be,  to  the  end  of  time,  best  obtained  by 
shafts  and  capitals.  It  has  been  so  obtained  by  nearly  every 
nation  of  builders,  with  more  or  less  refinement  in  the  manage¬ 
ment  of  the  details ;  and  the  later  Gotliic  builders  of  the  Xorth 
stand  almost  alone  in  their  effort  to  dispense  with  the  natural 
development  of  the  shaft,  and  banish  the  cajiital  from  their 
compositions. 

They  were  gradually  led  into  this  error  through  a  series  of 
steps  which  it  is  not  here  onr  business  to  trace.  But  they  may 
be  generalised  in  a  few  words. 

§  XXIX.  All  classical  architecture,  and  the  Komanesqne 
which  is  legitimately  descended  from  it,  is  composed  of  bold 


120 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


CONSTEUCTION. 


independent  shafts,  plain  or  fluted,  with  hold  detached  capitals, 
forming  arcades  or  colonnades  where  tliey  are  needed  ;  and  of 
walls  whose  apertures  are  surrounded  by  courses  of  parallel 
Jines  called  mouldings,  which  are  continuous  round  the  aper¬ 
tures;  and  have  neither  shafts  nor  capitals.  The  shaft  system 
and  moulding  system  are  entirely  separate. 

The  Gothic  architects  confounded  the  two.  They  clustered 
the  shafts  till  they  looked  like  a  group  of  mouldings.  They 
shod  and  capitaled  the  mouldings  till  they  looked  like  a  group 
of  shafts.  So  that  a  pier  became  merely  the  side  of  a  door  or 
window  rolled  up,  and  the  side  of  the  window  a  pier  unrolled 
(vide  last  Chapter,  §  xxx.),  both  being  composed  of  a.  series  of 
small  shafts,  each  with  base  and  capital.  The  architect  seemed 
to  have  whole  mats  of  shafts  at  his  disposal,  like  the  rush  mats 
which  one  puts  under  cream  cheese.  If  he  wanted  a  great  pier 
he  rolled  up  the  mat ;  if  he  wanted  the  side  of  a  door  he  spread 
out  the  mat :  and  now  the  reader  has  to  add  to  the  other  dis¬ 
tinctions  between  the  Egyptian  and  the  Gothic  shaft,  already 
noted  in  §  xxvi.  of  Chap.  VIII.,  this  one  more — the  most  im¬ 
portant  of  all — that  while  the  Egyptian  rush  cluster  has  only 
one  massive  capital  altogether,  the  Gothic  rush  mat  has  a  sepa¬ 
rate  tiny  capital  to  every  several  rush. 

§  xxx.  The  mats  were  gradually  made  of  finer  rushes,  until 
it  became  troublesome  to  give  each  rush  its  capital.  In  fact, 
when  the  groups  of  shafts  became  excessively  complicated, 
the  expansion  of  their  small  abaci  was  of  no  use :  it  was  dis¬ 
pensed  with  altogether,  and  the  mouldings  of  pier  and  jamb 
ran  up  continuously  into  the  arches. 

This  condition,  though  in  many  respects  faulty  and  false, 
is  yet  the  eminently  characteristic  state  of  Gothic :  it  is  the 
definite  formation  of  it  as  a  distinct  style,  owing  no  farther  aid 
to  classical  models ;  and  its  lightness  and  complexity  render  it, 
when  well  treated,  and  enriched  with  Flamboyant  decoration, 
a  very  glorious  means  of  picturesque  effect.  It  is,  in  fact,  this 
form  of  Gothic  which  commends  itself  most  easily  to  the  gen¬ 
eral  mind,  and  which  has  suggested  the  innumerable  foolish 
theories  about  the  derivation  of  Gothic  from  tree  trunlcs  and 


CONSTRUCTION. 


IX.  THE  CAPITAL. 


121 


avenues,  which  have  from  time  to  time  been  brought  forward 
hj  pei-sons  ignorant  of  the  history  of  architecture. 

§  XXXI.  When  the  sense  of  pictnresqneness,  as  well  as  that 
of  justness  and  dignity,  had  been  lost,  the  spring  of  the  contin- 
nons  mouldings  was  replaced  by  what  Professor  Willis  calls 
the  Discontinnons  impost ;  which,  being  a  barbarism  of  the 
basest  and  most  painful  kind,  and  being  to  architecture  what 
the  setting  of  a  saw  is  to  music,  I  shall  not  trouble  the  reader 
to  examine.  For  it  is  not  m  my  plan  to  note  for  him  all  the 
various  conditions  of  error,  but  only  to  guide  him  to  the  appre¬ 
ciation  of  the  right ;  and  I  only  note  even  the  true  Continuous 
or  Flamboyant  Gothic  because  this  is  redeemed  by  its  beautiful 
decoration,  afterwards  to  be  considered.  For,  as  far  as  struct¬ 
ure  is  concerned,  the  moment  the  capital  vanishes  from  the 
shaft,  that  moment  we  are  in  error :  all  good  Gothic  has  true 
capitals  to  the  shafts  of  its  jambs  and  traceries,  and  all  Gothic 
is  debased  the  instant  the  shaft  vanishes.  It  matters  not  how 
slender,  or  how  small,  or  how  low,  the  shaft  may  be  :  wherever 
there  is  indication  of  concentrated  vertical  support,  then  the 
capital  is  a  necessary  termination.  I  know  how  much  Gothic, 
otherwise  beautiful,  this  sweeping  principle  condemns ;  but  it 
condemns  not  altogether.  We  may  still  take  delight  in  its 
lovely  proportions,  its  rich  decoration,  or  its  elastic  and  reedy 
m3ulding;  but  be  assured,  wherever  shafts,  or  any  approxima¬ 
tions  to  the  forms  of  shafts,  are  employed,  for  whatever  office, 
or  on  whatever  scale,  be  it  in  jambs  or  piers,  or  balustrades,  or 
traceries,  without  capitals,  there  is  a  defiance  of  the  natural 
laws  of  construction  ;  and  that,  wherever  such  examples  are 
found  in  ancient  buildings,  they  are  either  the  experiments  of 
barbarism,  or  the  commencements  of  decline. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  AECH  LINE. 

§  I.  We  liave  seen  in  the  last  section  how  onr  means  of  ver¬ 
tical  support  may,  for  the  sake  of  economy  both  of  space  and 
material,  be  gathered  into  piers  or  shafts,  and  directed  to  the 
sustaining  of  particular  points.  The  next  question  is  how  to 
connect  these  points  or  tops  of  shafts  with  each  other,  so  as  to 
be  able  to  lay  on  them  a  continuous  roof.  This  the  reader,  as 
before,  is  to  favor  me  by  finding  out  for  himself,  under  these 
following  conditions. 

Let  5,  s,  Fig.  XXIX,  opposite,  be  two  shafts,  with  their 
capitals  ready  prepared  for  their  work ;  and  a,  h,  l>,  and 
<?,  c,  G,  be  six  stones  of  different  sizes,  one  very  long  and  large, 
and  two  smaller,  and  three  smaller  still,  of  which  the  reader  is 
to  choose  which  he  likes  best,  in  order  to  connect  the  tops  of 
the  shafts. 

I  suppose  he  will  first  try  if  he  can  lift  the  great  stone  a, 
and  if  he  can,  he  will  put  it  very  simply  on  the  tops  of  tlie  two 
pillars,  as  at  A. 

Very  well  indeed:  he  has  done  already  what  a  number  of 
Greek  architects  have  been  thought  very  clever  for  having 
done.  But  suppose  he  cannot  lift  the  great  stone  «,  or  suppose 
I  will  not  give  it  to  him,  but  only  the  two  smaller  stones  at 
&,  h  ’  he  will  doubtless  try  to  put  them  up,  tilted  against  each 
other,  as  at  d.  Y ery  awkward  this ;  worse  than  card-house 
building.  But  if  he  cuts  off  the  corners  of  the  stones,  so  as  to 
make  each  of  them  of  the  form  e,  they  will  stand  up  very 
securely,  as  at  B. 

But  suppose  he  cannot  lift  even  these  less  stones,  but  can 


CONSTRUCTION. 


X.  THE  ARCH  LINE. 


123 


raise  those  at  c,  c,  c.  Then,  cutting  each  of  them  into  the 
form  at  e,  he  will  doubtless  set  them  up  as  at 

§  II.  This  last  arrangement  looks  a  little  dangerous.  Is 
there  not  a  chance  of  the  stone  in  the  middle  pushing  the 

Fig.  XXIX. 


1 1 I  I  II 

d  c  c  0 


others  out,  or  tilting  them  up  and  aside,  and  slipping  down 
itself  between  them  ?  There  is  such  a  chance :  and  if  by  some¬ 
what  altering  the  form  of  the  stones,  we  can  diminish  this 
chance,  all  the  better.  I  must  say  “  we  ”  now,  for  perhaps  I 
may  have  to  help  the  reader  a  little. 


124 


X.  THE  AKCH  LIXE. 


CONSTRCCTIOIT. 


Tlie  danger  is,  observe,  that  the  midmost  stone  at/  pushes 
out  the  side  ones  :  then  if  we  can  give  the  side  ones  such  a 
sluqDe  as  that,  left  to  themselves,  they  would  fall  heavily  for¬ 
ward,  they  will  resist  this  push  out  by  their  weight,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  their  own  particular  inclination  or  desire  to  tum¬ 
ble  in.  Take  one  of  them  separately,  standing  up  as  at  g  ;  it 
is  just  possible  it  may  stand  up  as  it  is,  like  the  Tower  of  Pisa  : 
but  we  want  it  to  fall  forward.  Suppose  we  cut  away  the 
parts  that  are  shaded  at  A  and  leave  it  as  at  «,  it  is  very  certain 
it  cannot  stand  alone  now,  but  will  fall  forward  to  our  entire 
satisfaction. 

Farther :  the  midmost  stone  at  /is  likely  to  be  troublesome 
chiefly  by  its  weight,  pushing  down  between  the  others ;  the 
more  we  lighten  it  the  better  :  so  we  will  cut  it  into  exactly 
the  same  shape  as  the  side  ones,  chiselling  away  the  shaded 
parts,  as  at  A.  We  shall  then  have  all  the  three  stones  Z’,  ?,  w, 
of  the  same  sliape  ;  and  now  putting  them  together,  we  have, 
at  0,  what  the  reader,  I  doubt  not,  will  perceive  at  once  to  be 
a  much  more  satisfactory  arrangement  than  that  at^/i 

§  III.  We  have  now  got  three  arrangements;  in  one  using 
only  one  piece  of  stone,  in  the  second  two,  and  in  the  third 
three.  The  first  arrangement  has  no  particular  name,  except 
the  “  horizontal but  the  single  stone  (or  beam,  it  may  be,)  is 
called  a  lintel ;  the  second  arrangement  is  called  a  “  Gable 
the  third  an  “  Arch.” 

We  might  have  used  pieces  of  wood  instead  of  stone  in  all 
these  arrangements,  with  no  difference  in  plan,  so  long  as  the 
beams  were  kept  loose,  like  the  stones  ;  but  as  beams  can  be 
securely  nailed  together  at  the  ends,  we  need  not  troulfle  our¬ 
selves  so  much  about  their  shape  or  balance,  and  therefore  the 
plan  at/  is  a  peculiarly  wooden  construction  (the  reader  will 
doubtless  recognise  in  it  the  profile  of  many  a  farm-house 
roof) :  and  again,  because  beams  are  tough,  and  light,  and  long, 
as  compared  with  stones,  they  are  admiralily  adapted  for  the 
constructions  at  A  and  B,  the  plain  lintel  and  gable,  while  that 
at  C  is,  for  the  most  part,  left  to  brick  and  stone. 

§  IV.  Put  farther.  Tlie  constructions,  A,  B,  and  C,  thougli 


CONSTRUCTION. 


X.  THE  ARCH  LINE. 


125 


very  conveniently  to  be  first  considered  as  composed  of  one, 
two,  and  three  pieces,  are  by  no  means  necessarily  so.  'VYhen 
we  have  once  cut  the  stones  of  the  arch  into  a  shajie  like  that 
of  Z',  f,  and  m,  they  will  hold  together,  whatever  tlieir  num¬ 
ber,  place,  or  size,  as  at  n  and  the  great  value  of  the  arch  is, 
that  it  permits  small  stones  to  be  used  with  safety  instead  of 
large  ones,  which  are  not  always  to  be  had.  Stones  cut  into 
the  shape  of  X’,  Z,  and  m,  whether  they  be  short  or  long  (I 
have  drawn  them  all  sizes  at  n  on  purpose),  are  called  Yous- 
soirs ;  this  is  a  hard,  ugly  French  name;  but  the  reader  will 
perhaps  be  kind  enough  to  recollect  it ;  it  will  save  us  both 
some  trouble :  and  to  make  amends  for  this  infliction,  I  will 
relieve  him  of  the  term  keystone.  One  voussoir  is  as  much  a 
keystone  as  another ;  only  people  usually  call  the  stone  which 
is  last  put  in  the  keystone ;  and  that  one  happens  generally  to 
be  at  the  top  or  middle  of  the  arch. 

§  V".  Not  only  the  arch,  but  even  the  lintel,  may  be  built  of 
many  stones  or  bricks.  The  reader  may  see  lintels  built  in  this 
way  over  most  of  the  windows  of  our  brick  London  houses,  and 
so  also  the  gable;  there  are,  therefore,  two  distinct  questions 
respecting  each  arrangeinent ; — First,  what  is  the  line  or  direc¬ 
tion  of  it,  which  gives  it  its  strength  ?  and,  secondly,  what  is  the 
manner  of  masonry  of  it,  which  gives  it  its  consistence?  The 
first  of  these  T  shall  consider  in  this  Chapter  under  the  head 
of  the  Arch  Line,  using  the  term  arch  as  including  all  man¬ 
ner  of  construction  (though  we  shall  have  no  trouble  except 
about,  curves) ;  and  in  the  next  Chapter  I  shall  consider  the 
second,  under  the  head.  Arch  Masonry. 

§  VI.  Now  the  arch  line  is  the  ghost  or  skeleton  of  the  arch; 
or  rather  it  is  the  spinal  marrow  of  the  arch,  and  the  voussoii’s 
are  the  vertebrae,  which  keep  it  safe  and  sound,  and  clothe  it. 
This  arch  line  the  architect  has  first  to  conceive  and  shape  in 
his  mind,  as  opposed  to,  or  having  to  bear,  certain  forces 
which  will  try  to  distort  it  this  way  and  that ;  and  against 
which  he  is  first  to  direct  and  bend  the  line  itself  into  as  strong 
resistance  as  he  may,  and  then,  with  Ins  voussoirs  and  what  else 
he  can,  to  guard  it,  and  help  it,  and  kecji  it  to  its  duty  and  in 


126 


X.  THE  ARCH  LINE. 


COKSTRtJCTIOIt 


its  sliape.  So  tlie  arcli  line  is  tlie  moral  character  of  the  arch, 
and  the  adverse  forces  are  its  temptations ;  and  the  voassoirs, 
and  what  else  we  may  help  it  with,  are  its  armor  and  its 
motives  to  good  conduct. 

§  VII.  Tliis  moral  character  of  the  arch  is  called  by  archi¬ 
tects  its  ‘‘  Line  of  Resistance.”  There  is  a  great  deal  of  nicety 
in  calculating  it  with  precision,  just  as  there  is  sometimes  in 
iinding  out  very  precisely  what  is  a  man’s  true  line  of  moral 
conduct ;  but  this,  in  arch  morality  and  in  man  morality,  is  a 
very  simple  and  easily  to  be  understood  principle, — that  if 
either  arch  or  man  expose  themselves  to  their  special  tempta¬ 
tions  or  adverse  forces,  outside  of  the  voussoirs  or  proper 
and  appointed  armor,  both  will  fall.  An  arch  whose  line  of 
resistance  is  in  the  middle  of  its  voussoirs  is  perfectly  safe : 
in  proportion  as  the  said  line  runs  near  tlie  edge  of  its  voussoirs, 
the  arch  is  in  danger,  as  the  man  is  who  nears  temptation ;  and 
the  moment  the  line  of  resistance  emerges  out  of  the  voussoirs 
the  arch  falls. 

§  VIII.  There  are,  therefore,  properly  speaking,  two  arch 
lines.  One  is  the  visible  direction  or  curve  of  the  arch,  which 
may  generally  be  considered  as  the  under  edge  of  its  voussoirs, 
and  which  has  often  no  more  to  do  with  the  real  stability  of 
the  arch,  than  a  man’s  apparent  conduct  has  ivith  his  heart. 
The  other  line,  which  is  the  line  of  resistance,  or  line  of  good 
behavior,  may  or  may  not  be  consistent  with  the  outward  and 
apparent  curves  of  the  arch ;  but  if  not,  then  the  securitv  of 
the  arch  depends  simply  upon  this,  whether  the  voussoirs 
which  assume  or  pretend  to  the  one  line  are  wide  enough  to 
include  the  other. 

§  IX.  Now  when  the  reader  is  told  that  the  line  of  resistance 
varies  with  every  change  either  in  place  or  quantity  of  the 
weight  above  the  arch,  he  will  see  at  once  that  we  have  no 
chance  of  arranging  arches  by  their  moral  characters :  we  can 
only  take  the  apparent  arch  line,  or  visible  direction,  as  a 
ground  of  arrangement.  We  shall  consider  the  possilde  or 
probable  forms  or  contours  of  arches  in  the  present  Cliapter, 
and  in  the  succeeding  one  the  forms  of  voussoir  and  other  help 


CONSTRUCTION. 


X.  THE  ARCH  LIXE. 


127 


Fig.  XXX. 


wliicli  may  best  fortify  these  visible  lines  against  every  tempta¬ 
tion  to  lose  their  consistency. 

§  X.  Look  back  to  Fig.  XXIX.  Evidently  the  abstract  or 
ghost  line  of  the  arrangement  at  A  is  a  plain  horizontal  line, 
as  here  at  a,  Fig.  XXX.  Tlie  abstract  line  of  the  arrange^ 
ment  at  B,  Fig.  XXIX.,  is  composed  of  two  straight  lines,  set 
against  each  other,  as  here  at  h.  The  abstract  line  of  0, 
Fig.  XXIX.,  is  a  curve 
of  some  kind,  not  at 
present  determined,  sup¬ 
pose  <?,  Fig.  XXX. 

Then,  as  5  is  two  of  the 
straight  lines  at  a,  set  up 
against  each  other,  w'e 
may  conceive  an  arrange¬ 
ment,  6?,  made  np  of  two 
of  the  curved  lines  at  c, 
set  against  each  other. 

This  is  called  a  pointed  arch,  which  is  a  contradiction  in  terms : 
it  ought  to  be  called  a  curved  gable ;  but  it  must  keep  the 
name  it  has  get. 


a 


Now  a,  h,  c,  d,  Fig.  XXX.,  are  the  ghosts  of  the  lintel,  the 
gable,  the  arch,  and  the  pointed  arch.  With  the  poor  lintel 
ghost  we  need  trouble  ourselves  no  farther ;  there  are  no. 
changes  in  him  :  but  there  is  much  variety  in  the  other  three, 
and  the  method  of  their  variety  will  be  best  discerned  by 
studying  5  and  d,  as  subordinate  to  and  connected  with  tho 
simple  arch  at  c. 

§  XI.  Many  architects,  especially  the  worst,  have  been  very 
curious  in  designing  out  of  the  way  arches, — elliptical  arches, 
and  four-centred  arches,  so  called,  and  other  singularities.  The 
good  architects  have  generally  been  content,  and  we  for  the 
jiresent  w'ill  be  so,  with  God’s  arch,  the  arch  of  the  rain¬ 
bow  and  of  the  apparent  heaven,  and  which  the  sun  shapes  for 
us  as  it  sets  and  rises.  Let  us  watch  the  sun  for  a  moment  as 
it  climbs :  when  it  is  a  quarter  up,  it  will  give  us  the  arch  a, 
Fig.  XXXI. ;  when  it  is  half  up,  h,  and  wheii  three  epaarters 


128 


X.  THE  ARCH  LIXE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


up,  c.  There  will  be  an  infinite  number  of  arches  between 
these,  but  we  whll  take  these  as  sufficient  representativ'es  of  all. 
Then  a  is  the  low  arch,  h  the  central  or  pure  arch,  c  the  high 
arch,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  wmuld  have  drawn  for  us  their 
voussoirs. 

§  XII.  We  will  take  these  several  arches  successively,  and 
fixing  the  top  of  each  accurately,  draw  two  right  lines  thence 
to  its  base,  d,  Fig.  XXXI.  Then  these  lines  give  us  the 
relative  gables  of  each  of  the  arches ;  d  is  the  Italian  or 
southern  gable,  e  the  central  gable,  /  the  Gothic  gable. 

Fig.  XXXI. 


§  XIII.  We  will  again  take  the  three  arches  with  their 
gables  in  succession,  and  on  each  of  the  sides  of  the  gable, 
between  it  and  the  arch,  we  will  describe  another  arch,  as  at 
y,  A,  i.  Then  the  curves  so  described  give  the  pointed  arches 
belonging  to  each  of  the  round-  arches ;  y,  the  flat  pointed 
arch,  A,  the  central  pointed  arch,  and  the  lancet  pointed 
arch. 

§  XIV.  If  the  radius  with  which  these  intermediate  curves 
are  drawn  be  the  base  of/,  the  last  is  the  equilateral  pointed 


COXSTHUCTION. 


X.  THE  ARCH  LTXE. 


129 


arcli,  one  of  great  importance  in  Gotliic  work.  But  between 
the  gable  and  circle,  in  all  the  three  figures,  there  are  an  infi¬ 
nite  number  of  jiointed  arches,  describable  with  different  radii ; 
and  the  three  round  arches,  be  it  remembered,  are  themselves 
representatives  of  an  infinite  number,  passing  from  the  fiattest 
conceivable  curve,  through  the  semicircle  and  horseshoe,  up  to 
the  full  circle. 

The  central  and  the  last  group  are  the  most  important. 
The  central  round,  or  semicircle,  is  the  Roman,  the  Byzantine, 
and  R^orman  arch ;  and  its  relative  pointed  includes  one  wide 
branch  of  Gothic.  The  horseshoe  round  is  the  Arabic  and 
Moorish  arch,  and  its  relative  pointed  includes  the  whole  range 
of  Arabic  and  lancet,  or  Early  English  and  French  Gothics. 
I  mean  of  course  by  the  relative  pointed,  the  entire  group  of 
which  the  equilateral  arch  is  the  representative. 

Between  it  and  the  outer  horseshoe,  as  this  latter 
rises  higher,  the  reader  will  find,  on  experiment, 
the  great  families  of  what  may  be  called  the 
horseshoe  pointed, — curves  of  the  highest  impor¬ 
tance,  but  which  are  all  included,  with  English 
lancet,  under  the  term,  relative  pointed  of  the  horseshoe  arch. 

§  XV.  The  groups  above  described  are  all  formed  of  circular 
arcs,  and  include  all  truly  useful  and  beautiful  arches  for  ordi¬ 
nary  work.  I  believe  that  singular  and  complicated  curves  are 
made  use  of  in  modern  engineering,  but  with  these  the  general 
reader  can  have  no  concern  :  the  Ponte  della  Triiiita  at  Florence 
is  the  most  graceful  instance  I  know  of  such  structure ;  the 
arch  made  use  of  being  very  subtle,  and  approximating  to  the 
low  ellipse ;  for  which,  in  common  work,  a  barbarous  pointed 
arch,  called  four-centred,  and  composed  of  bits  of  circles,  is 
substituted  by  the  English  builders.  The  high  ellipse,  I  believe, 
exists  in  eastern  architecture,  I  have  never  myself  met  with 
it  on  a  large  scale ;  but  it  occurs  in  the  niches  of  the  later  por¬ 
tions  of  the  Ducal  palace  at  Venice,  together  with  a  singidar 
1)  \’perbolic  arch,  a  in  Fig.  XXXIII.,  to  be  described  hereafter : 
with  such  caprices  we  are  not  here  concerned. 

§  XVI.  We  are,  however,  concerned  to  notice  the  absurdity 


Fig.  xxxn. 


130 


X.  THE  ARCH  LIHE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


of  another  form  of  arch,  which,  with  the  four-centred,  belongs 
to  the  English  2‘>erpendicular  Gothic. 

Taking  the  gable  of  any  of  the  groups  in  Fig.  XXXI. 
(suppose  the  equilateral),  here  at  Z»,  in  Fig.  XXXIII.,  the 
dotted  line  representing  the  relative  pointed  arch,  we  may 
evidently  conceive  an  arch  formed  by  reversed  curves  on  the 
inside  of  the  gable,  as  here  shown  by  the  inner  curved  lines. 
I  imagine  the  reader  by  this  time  knows  enough  of  the  nature 
of  arches  to  understand  that,  whatever  strength  or  stability 
was  gained  by  the  curve  on  the  outside  of  tlie  gable,  exactly 
so  much  is  lost  by  curves  on  the  inside.  The  natural  tendency 
of  such  an  arch  to  dissolution  by  its  own  mere  weight  renders 
it  a  feature  of  detestable  ugliness,  wherever  it  occurs  on  a  large 
scale.  It  is  eminently  characteristic  of  Tudor  work,  and  it  is 


Fig.  xxxm. 


the  profile  of  the  Chinese  roof  (I  say  on  a  large  scale,  because 
this  as  well  as  all  other  capricious  arches,  may  be  made  secure 
by  their  masonry  when  small,  but  not  otherwise).  Some  allow¬ 
able  modifications  of  it  will  be  noticed  in  the  chapter  on  Eoofs. 

§  XVII.  There  is  only  one  more  form  of  arch  which  we  have 
to  notice.  When  the  last  described  arch  is  used,  not  as  the 
principal  arrangement,  but  as  a  mere  heading  to  a  common 
pointed  arch,  we  have  the  form  <?,  Fig.  XXXIII.  Xow  this  is 
better  than  the  entirely  reversed  arch  for  two  reasons ;  first, 
less  of  the  line  is  weakened  by  reversing ;  secondly,  the  double 
curve  has  a  very  high  {esthetic  value,  not  existing  in  the  mere 
segments  of  circles.  For  these  reasons  arches  of  this  kind  are 
not  only  admissible,  but  even  of  great  desirableness,  when 
their  scale  and  masoniy  render  them  secure,  but  above  a  certain 
scale  they  are  altogether  barbarous;  and,  with  the  reversed 


CONSTBUCTION. 


X.  THE  ARCH  LINE. 


131 


Tudor  arch,  wautouly  employed,  are  the  characteristics  of  the 
worst  aud  meanest  schools  of  architecture,  past  or  present. 

This  double  curve  is  called  the  Ogee ;  it  is  the  profile  of 
many  German  leaden  roofs,  of  many  Turkish  domes  (there 
more  excusable,  because  associated  and  in  sympathy  with  ex¬ 
quisitely  managed  arches  of  the  same  line  in  the  walls  below), 
of  Tudor  turrets,  as  in  Henry  the  Seventh’s  Chapel,  and  it  is 
at  the  bottom  or  top  of  sundry  other  blunders  all  over  the 
world. 

§  xvm.  The  varieties  of  the  ogee  curve  are  infinite,  as  the 
reversed  portion  of  it  may  be  engrafted  on  every  other  fonn 
of  arch,  horseshoe,  round,  or  j)ointed.  Whatever  is  generally 
worthy  of  note  in  these  varieties,  and  in  other  arches  of 
caprice,  we  shall  best  discover  by  examining  their  masonry ;  for 
it  is  by  their  good  masonry  only  that  they  are  rendered  eitlier 
stable  or  beautiful.  To  this  question,  then,  let  us  address  our¬ 
selves. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE  AECII  MASONEY. 

§  I.  On  the  subject  of  the  stability  of  arches,  volumes  have 
been  written  and  volumes  more  are  required.  The  reader 
will  not,  therefore,  expect  from  me  any  very  complete  ex¬ 
planation  of  its  conditions  within  the  limits  of  a  single  chapter. 
But  that  which  is  necessary  for  him  to  know  is  very  simple 
and  very  easy ;  and  yet,  I  believe,  some  part  of  it  is  very  little 
known,  or  noticed. 

We  must  first  have  a  clear  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  an 
arch.  It  is  a  curved  shell  of  firm  materials,  on  whose  back  a 
burden  is  to  be  laid  of  loose  materials.  So  far  as  the  materials 
above  it  are  not  loose^  but  themselves  hold  together,  the  open¬ 
ing  below  is  not  an  arch,  Imt  an  excavation.  Xote  this  differ¬ 
ence  very  carefully.  If  the  King  of  Sardinia  tunnels  through 
the  Mont  Cenis,  as  he  proposes,  he  will  not  require  to  l)uild 
a  brick  arch  under  his  tunnel  to  carry  the  weight  of  the 
Mont  Cenis :  that  would  need  scientific  masonry  indeed. 
The  Mont  Cenis  will  carry  itself,  by  its  own  cohesion,  and  a 
succession  of  invisible  granite  arches,  rather  larger  than  the 
tunnel.  But  when  Mr.  Brunei  tunnelled  the  Thames  bottom, 
he  needed  to  build  a  brick  arch  to  carry  the  six  or  seven  feet 
of  mud  and  the  weight  of  water  above.  That  is  a  type  of  all 
arches  proper. 

§  II.  Now  arches,  in  practice,  partake  of  the  nature  of  the 
two.  So  far  as  their  masonry  above  is  Mont-Cenisian,  that  is 
to  say,  colossal  in  comparison  of  them,  and  granitic,  so  that 
the  arch  is  a  mere  hole  in  the  rock  substance  of  it,  the  form 
of  the  arch  is  of  no  consequence  whatever  :  it  may  be  rounded, 


CONSTBTJCTIOIT. 


XI.  THE  AECH  MASOXRT. 


13.*^ 

or  lozeiiged,  or  ogee’d,  or  anytliing  else ;  and  in  the  noblest 
architecture  there  is  always  some  character  of  tliis  hind  given 
to  the  masonry.  It  is  independent  enough  not  to  care  about 
the  holes  cut  in  it,  and  does  not  subside  into  them  like  sand. 
But  the  theory  of  arches  does  not  presume  on  any  such  con¬ 
dition  of  things ;  it  allows  itself  only  the  shell  of  the  arch 
proper;  the  vertebrae,  carrying  their  marrow  of  resistance; 
and,  above  this  shell,  it  assumes  the  wall  to  be  in  a  state  of 
dux,  bearing  down  on  the  arch,  like  water  or  sand,  with  its 
whole  weight.  And.  farther,  the  problem  which  is  to  be 
solved  by  the  arch  builder  is  not  merely  to  carry  this  weight, 
but  to  carry  it  with  the  least  thickness  of  shell.  It  is  easy  to 
carry  it  by  continually  thickening  your  vonssoirs  :  if  you  have 
six  feet  depth  of  sand  or  gravel  to  carry,  and  you  choose  to 
employ  granite  vonssoirs  six  feet  thick,  no  question  but  your 
arch  is  safe  enough.  But  it  is  perhaps  somewhat  too  costly  : 
the  thing  to  be  done  is  to  carry  the  sand  or  gravel  with  brick 
vonssoirs,  six  inches  thick,  or,  at  any  rate,  with  the  least 
thickness  of  voussoir  which  will  be  safe  ;  and  to  do  this  re¬ 
quires  peculiar  arrangement  of  the  lines  of  the  arch.  There 
are  many  arrangements,  useful  all  in  their  way,  but  we  have 
only  to  do,  in  the  best  architecture,  wdth  the  simplest  and 
most  easily  understood.  Wo  have  first  to  note  those  which 
regard  the  actual  shell  of  the  arch,  and  then  we  shall  give  a 
few  examples  of  the  superseding  of  such  expedients  by  Mont- 
Cenisian  masonry, 

§  III.  What  we  have  to  say  will  apply  to  all  arches,  but  the 
central  pointed  arch  is  the  best  for  general  illustration.  Let 
«,  Plate  III.,  be  the  shell  of  a  pointed  arch  with  loose  loading 
above;  and  suppose  you  find  that  shell  not  quite  thick  enough  , 
and  that  the  weight  bears  too  heavily  on  the  top  of  the  aich, 
and  is  likely  to  break  it  in  :  you  proceed  to  thicken  your  shell, 
but  need  you  thicken  it  all  equally  %  N'ot  so  ;  you  would  only 
waste  your  good  vonssoirs.  If  you  have  any  common  sense 
you  will  thicken  it  at  the  top,  where  a  Mylodon’s  skull  is 
thickened  for  the  same  purpose  (and  some  human  skulls,  I 
fancy),  as  at  Ij.  The  pebbles  and  gravel  above  will  now  shoot 


134 


XI.  THE  AECII  MASOXRY. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


off  it  riglit  and  left,  as  tlie  bullets  do.  off  a  cuirassier's  breast¬ 
plate,  and  will  have  no  chance  of  beating  it  in. 

If  still  it  be  not  strong  enougli,  a  farther  addition  may  be 
made,  as  at  c,  now  thickening  the  voussoirs  a  little  at  the  base 
also.  But  as  this  may  perhaps  throw  the  arch  inconveniently 
high,  or  occasion  a  waste  of  voussoirs  at  the  top,  we  may 
employ  another  expedient. 

§  IV.  I  imagine  the  reader’s  common  sense,  if  not  his  pre- 
■^'ious  knowledge,  will  enable  him  to  understand  that  if  the 
arch  at  g,  Plate  III.,  burst  in  at  the  top,  it  must  burst  out  at 
the  sides.  Set  up  two  pieces  of  pasteboard,  edge  to  edge,  and 
press  them  down  with  your  hand,  and  you  will  see  them  bend 
out  at  the  sides.  Therefore,  if  you  can  keep  the  arch  from 
starting  out  at  the  points  p,  j?,  it  cannot  curve  in  at  the  top, 
put  what  weight  on  it  you  will,  unless  by  sheer  crushing  of  the 
stones  to  fragments. 

§  Now  yon  may  keep  the  arch  from  starting  out  at  p  by 
loading  it  at  j9,  putting  more  weight  upon  it  and  against  it  at 
that  point ;  and  this,  in  practice,  is  the  way  it  is  usually  done. 
But  we  assume  at  present  that  the  weight  above  is  sand  or 
water,  quite  unmanageable,  not  to  be  directed  to  the  points 
we  choose ;  and  in  practice,  it  may  sometimes  hajipen  that 
we  cannot  put  weight  upon  the  arch  at  p.  We  may  perhaps 
want  an  opening  above  it,  or  it  may  be  at  the  side  of  the 
building,  and  many  other  circumstances  may  occur  to  hinder 
us. 

§  VI.  But  if  we  are  not  sure  that  we  can  put  weight  above 
it,  we  are  perfectly  sure  that  we  can  hang  weight  under  it. 
You  may  always  thicken  your  shell  inside,  and  put  the  weight 
upon  it  as  at  x  a?,  in  d,  Plate  III.  Not  much  chance  of  its 
bursting  out  at  y?,  now,  is  there  ? 

§  VII.  Whenever,  therefore,  an  arch  has  to  bear  vertical 
pressure,  it  will  bear  it  better  when  its  shell  is  shaped  as  at  5 
or  than  as  at  a  .*  1)  and  d  are,  therefore,  the  types  of  arches 
built  to  resist  vertical  pressure,  all  over  the  world,  and  from 
the  beginning  of  architecture  to  its  end.  None  others  can 
compared  with  them :  all  are  imperfect  except  these. 


IIT 


ARCH  MASONRY 


COKSTRTJCTION. 


XI.  THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


135 


The  added  projections  at  x  a?,  in  c?,  are  called  Cusps,  and 
they  are  the  very  soul  and  life  of  the  best  northern  Gothic ; 
yet  never  thoroughly  understood  nor  found  in  perfection, 
except  in  Italy,  the  northern  builders  worldng  often,  even  in 
the  best  times,  with  the  vulgar  form  at  a. 

The  form  at  h  is  rarely  found  in  the  north :  its  perfection 
is  in  the  Lombardic  Gothic  ;  and  branches  of  it,  good  and  bad 
according  to  their  use,  occur  in  Saracenic  work. 

§  VIII.  The  true  and  perfect  cusp  is  single  only.  But  it 
was  probably  invented  (by  the  Arabs  ?)  not  as  a  constructive, 
but  a  decorative  feature,  in  pure  fantasy ;  and  in  early  northern 
work  it  is  only  the  application  to  the  arch  of  the  foliation,  so 
called,  of  penetrated  spaces  in  stone  surfaces,  already  enough 
explained  in  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  Chap.  III.,  p.  85  et  seq.  It 
is  degraded  in  dignity,  and  loses  ite  usefulness,  exactly  in 
projmrtion  to  its  multiplication  on  the  arch.  In  later  archi¬ 
tecture,  especially  English  Tudor,  it  is  sunk  into  dotage,  and 
becomes  a  simple  excrescence,  a  bit  of  stone  pinched  up  out  of 
the  arch,  as  a  cook  pinches  the  paste  at  the  edge  of  a  pie. 

§  IX.  The  depth  and  place  of  the  cusp,  that  is  to  say,  its 
exact  application  to  the  shoulder  of  the  curve  of  the  arch, 
varies  with  the  direction  of  the  weight  to  be  sustained.  I  have 
spent  more  than  a  month,  and  that  in  hard  work  too,  in  merely 
trying  to  get  the  forms  of  cusps  into  perfect  order :  whereby 
the  reader  may  guess  that  I  have  not  space  to  go  into  the 
subject  now ;  but  I  shall  hereafter  give  a  few  of  the  leading 
and  most  perfect  examples,  with  their  measures  and  masonry. 

§  X.  The  reader  now  understands  all  that  he  need  about  the 
shell  of  the  arch,  considered  as  an  united  piece  of  stone. 

He  has  next  to  consider  the  shape  of  the  voussoirs.  This, 
as  much  as  is  required,  he  will  be  able  best  to  comprehend  by 
a  few  examples  |  by  which  I  shall  be  able  also  to  illustrate,  or 
rather  which  will  force  me  to  illustrate,  some  of  the  methods 
of  Moiit-Cenisian  masonry,  which  were  to  be  the  second  part 
of  our  subject. 

§  XI.  1  and  2,  Plate  IV.,  are  two  cornices  ;  1  from  St. 
Antonio,  Padua ;  2,  from  the  Cathedral  of  Sens.  I  want  them 


136 


XT.  THE  AECn  MASOXRT. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


for  cornices ;  but  I  liave  put  tliein  in  tliis  plate  because,  tliougli 
tlieir  arches  are  filled  up  behind,  and  are  in  fact  mere  blocks 
of  stone  with  arches  cut  into  their  faces,  thej  illustrate  the  con¬ 
stant  masonry  of  small  arches,  both  in  Italian  and  Ilorthern 
liOmanesque,  but  especially  Italian,  each  arch  being  cut  out 
of  its  own  proper  block  of  stone  ;  this  is  Mont-Cenisian  enough, 
on  a  small  scale. 

3  is  a  window  from  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  very  primitiv^e 
and  interesting  in  manner, — one  of  its  arches  being  of  one 
stone,  the  other  of  two.  And  here  we  have  an  instance  of  a 
form  of  arch  which  would  be  barl)arous  enough  on  a  large 
scale,  and  of  many  pieces ;  but  quaint  and  agreeable  thus  mas¬ 
sively  built. 

4  is  fiom  a  little  belfry  in  a  Swiss  village  abov’e  A^ev'av  |  one 
fancies  the  window  of  an  absurd  form,  seen  in  the  distance, 
but  one  is  pleased  with  it  on  seeing  its  masonry.  It  could 
hardly  be  stronger. 

§  xn.  These  then  are  arches  cut  of  one  block.  The  next 
step  is  to  form  them  of  two  pieces,  set  together  at  the  head 
of  the  aicli.  6,  from  the  Eremitani,  Padua,  is  very  quaint 
and  primitive  in  manner ;  it  is  a  curious  church  altogether, 
and  has  some  strange  traceries  cut  out  of  single  blocl^r  O.ie 
is  given  in  the  “Seven  Lamps,”  Plate  YII.,  in  the  left-hand 
corner  at  the  bottom. 


7,  from  the  Frari,  Yeniee,  very  firm  and  fine,  and  admirably 
decorated,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter.  5,  the  simple  two-pieced 
construction,  wrought  with  the  most  exquisite  proportion  and 
precision  of  workmanship,  as  is  everything  else  in  the  glorious 
church  to  which  it  belongs,  San  Fermo  of  Yerona.  The 
addition  of  the  top  piece,  which  completes  the  circle,  does  not 
affect  the  plan  of  the  beautiful  arches,  with  their  simple  aiid 
pel  feet  cusps  ;  but  it  is  highly  curious,  and  serves  to  show  how 
the  idea  of  the  cusp  rose  out  of  mere  foliation.  The  whole  of 
the  architecture  of  this  church  may  be  characterised  as  exhibit¬ 
ing  the  maxima  of  simplicity  in  construction,  and  perfection  in 
workmanship,— a  rare  unison  :  for,  in  general,  simple  designs 
uie  rudely  worked,  and  as  the  builder  perfects  his  execution, 


1  < 

7 

ARCH  MASONRY. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XI.  THE  ARCH  MASONRY. 


137 


lie  coiii2)licates  liis  plan.  Nearly  all  the  arches  of  San  Ferrao 
are  two-pieced. 

§  XIII.  AVe  have  seen  the  construction  with  one  and  two 
pieces:  a  and  h,  Fig.  8,  Plate  IV.,  are  the  general  types  of 
the  construction  with  three  pieces,  uncusped  and  cnsped  ;  o 
and  d  with  five  pieces,  uncusped  and  cusped.  Of  these  tlie 
three-pieced  construction  is  of  enortnous  importance,  and  must 
detain  us  some  time.  The  five-pieced  is  tlie  three-pieced  witli 
a  joint  added  on  each  side,  and  is  also  of  great  importance. 
The  four-pieced,  which  is  the  two-pieced  with  added  joints, 
rarely  occurs,  and  need  not  detain  us. 

§  XIV.  It  will  be  remembered  that  in  first  working  out  tlie 
principle  of  the  arch,  we  composed  the  arch  of  three  pieces. 
Three  is  the  smallest  number  which  can  exhibit  the  real  priji- 
ciple  of  arch  masonry,  and  it  may  be  considered  as  represen¬ 
tative  of  all  arches  built  on  that  principle ;  the  one  and  two- 
jiieced  arches  being  microscopic  Mont-Cenisian,  mere  caves 
in  blocks  of  stone,  or  gaps  between  two  rocks  leaning  together. 

But  the  three-pieced  arch  is  properly  representative  of  all  ; 
and  the  larger  and  more  complicated  constructions  are  merely 
produced  by  keeping  the  central  piece  for  what  is  called  a 
keystone,  and  putting  additional  joints  at  the  sides.  Now  so 
long  .as  an  arch  is  pure  circular  or  pointed,  it  does  not  mat¬ 
ter  how  many  joints  or  voussoirs  you  have,  nor  where  the 
joints  are  ;  nay,  you  may  joint  your  keystone  itself,  and  make 
it  tw'o-pieced.  But  if  the  arch  be  of  any  bizai're  form,  espe- 
cially  ogee,  the  joints  must  be  in  particular  places,  and  the 
masonry  simple,  or  it  will  not  be  thoroughly  good  and  secure ; 
and  the  fine  schools  of  the  ogee  arch  have  only  arisen  in 
countries  where  it  was  the  custom  to  build  arches  of  few  pieces. 

§  XV.  The  typical  pure  pointed  arch  of  Venice  is  a  five- 
pieced  arch,  with  its  stones  in  three  orders  of  magnitude,  the 
longest  being  the  lowest,  as  at  ^3,  Plate  III.  If  the  arch  be  very 
large,  a  fourth  order  of  magnitude  is  added,  as  at  a^.  The 
portals  of  the  palaces  of  Venice  have  one  or  other  of  these 
masonries,  almost  without  exception.  Now,  as  one  piece  is 
added  to  make  a  larger  door,  one  piece  is  taken  away  to  make 


138 


XI.  THE  ARCH  MASONRY 


CONSTRUCTION 


VI  smaller  one,  or  a  window,  and  tlie  masonry  type  of  tlie 
Venetian  Gothic  window  is  consequently  tliree-pieced,  Cg. 

§  XVI,  The  reader  knows  already  where  a  cusp  is  useful. 
It  is  wanted,  he  will  remember,  to  give  weight  to  those  side 
stones,  and  draw  them  inwards  against  the  thrust  of  the  top 
stone.  Take  one  of  the  side  stones  of  out  for  a  moment,  as 
at  d.  Now  the  'proper  place  of  the  cusp  iijion  it  varies  with 
the  weight  which  it  bears  or  requires  ;  but  in  practice  this 
nicety  is  rarely  observed ;  the  place  of  the  cusp  is  almost  always 
determined  by  aesthetic  considerations,  and  it  is  evident  that 
the  variations  in  its  place  may  be  infinite.  Consider  the  cusp 
as  a  wave  passing  up  the  side  stone  from  its  bottom  to  its  top ; 
then  you  will  have  the  succession  of  forms  from  e  to  g  (Plate 
III.),  with  infinite  degrees  of  transition  from  each  to  each; 
but  of  which  you  may  take  e,  and  y,  as  representing  three 
great  families  of  cusped  arches.  Use  e  for  your  side  stones, 
and  you  have  an  arch  as  that  at  li  below,  wdiich  may  be  called 
a  down-cusped  arch.  Use  for  the  side  stone,  and  you  have 
i,  which  may  be  called  a  mid-cusped  arch.  Use  y,  and  you 
have  h,  an  up-cusped  arch. 

§  XVII.  The  reader  will  observe  that  I  call  the  arch  mid- 
cusped,  not  when  the  cusped  point  is  in  the  middle  of  the 
curve  of  the  arch,  but  wdien  it  is  in  the  middle  of  the  side 
piece,  and  also  that  where  the  side  pieces  join  the  keystone 
there  will  be  a  change,  perhaps  somewhat  abnipt,  in  the  cur¬ 
vature. 

I  have  preferred  to  call  the  arch  mid-cusped  with  respect 
to  its  side  piece  than  with  respect  to  its  own  curve,  because 
the  most  beautiful  Gothic  arches  in  the  world,  those  of  the 
Lombard  Gothic,  have,  in  all  the  instances  I  have  examined, 
a  form  more  or  less  approximating  to  this  mid-cusped  one  at 
i  (Plate  III,),  but  having  the  curvature  of  the  cusp  carried 
u]:)  into  the  keystone,  as  we  shall  see  presently  :  where,  how¬ 
ever,  the  arch  is  built  of  many  voussoirs,  a  mid-cusped  arch 
will  mean  one  which  has  the  point  of  the  cusp  midway  between 
its  own  base  and  apex. 

The  Gothic  arch  of  Venice  is  almost  invariably  up-cusped, 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XI.  THE  AECH  MASONRY. 


139 


as  at  h.  Tlie  reader  may  note  that,  in  both  down-cusjied  and 
up-cusped  arches,  the  piece  of  stone,  added  to  form  tlie  cusp, 
is  of  the  shape  of  a  scymitar,  held  down  in  the  one  case  and 
up  in  the  other. 

§  XVIII.  Now,  in  the  arches  A,  A,  a  sliglit  modification  has 
been  made  in  the  form  of  the  central  piece,  in  order  that  it 
may  continue  the  curve  of  the  cusp.  This  modification  is  not 
to  be  given  to  it  in  practice  without  considerable  nicety  of 
workmanship  ;  and  some  curious  results  took  place  in  Venice 
from  this  difficulty. 

At  I  (Plate  in.)  is  the  shape  of  the  Venetian  side  stone, 
with  its  cusp  detached  from  the  arch.  Nothing  can  possibly 
be  better  or  more  graceful,  or  have  the  weight  better  disposed 
in  order  to  cause  it  to  nod  forwards  against  the  keystone,  as 
above  explained,  Ch.  X.  §  ii.,  where  I  developed  the  whole 
system  of  the  arch  from  three  pieces,  in  order  that  the  reader 
might  now  clearly  see  the  use  of  the  w’eight  of  the  cusji. 

Now  a  Venetian  Gothic  palace  has  usually  at  least  three 
stories;  with  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  windows  in  each  story, 
and  this  on  two  or  three  of  its  sides,  requiring  altogether  some 
hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  side  pieces. 

I  have  no  doubt,  from  observation  of  the  way  the  windows 
are  set  together,  that  the  side  pieces  were  carved  in  pairs,  like 
liooks,  of  which  the  keystones  were  to  he  the  eyes ;  that  these 
side  pieces  were  ordered  by  the  architect  in  the  gross,  and 
were  used  by  him  sometimes  for  wider,  sometimes  for  narrower 
windows ;  bevelling  the  two  ends  as  requii-ed,  fitting  in  kc}^- 
stones  as  he  best  could,  and  now  and  then  varying  the  arrange¬ 
ment  by  turning  the  side  pieees  upside  doivn. 

There  were  various  conveniences  in  tliis  way  of  working, 
one  of  the  principal  being  that  the  side  pieces  with  their  cusps 
were  always  cut  to  their  complete  form,  and  that  no  part  of  the 
cusj)  was  carried  out  into  the  keystone,  which  followed  the 
curve  of  the  outer  arch  itself.  The  ornaments  of  the  cusp 
miglit  thus  be  worked  without  any  troublesome  reference  to 
the  rest  of  the  arch. 

§  XIX.  Now  let  us  take  a  pair  of  side  pieces,  made  to  orderi 


140 


XI.  THE  AECn  MASONRY. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


like  tliat  at  and  see  wliat  we  can  make  of  tliem.  We  will 
try  to  fit  them  first  with  a  keystone  which  continues  the  cur\  e 
of  the  outer  aicli,  as  at  m.  This  the  reader  assuredly  thinks 
an  ugly  arch.  There  are  a  great  many  of  them  in  Yenice,  the 
ugliest  things  there,  and  the  Yenetian  builders  quickly  began 
to  feel  them  so.  AVhat  could  they  do  to  better  them  ?  The 
arch  at  m  has  a  central  piece  of  the  form  r.  Substitute  for  it 
a  piece  of  the  form  and  we  have  the  arch  at  n. 

§  XX.  This  arch  at  n  is  not  so  strong  as  that  at  m, ;  but, 
built  of  good  marble,  and  with  its  pieces  of  proper  thickness,  it 
is  quite  strong  enough  for  all  practical  purposes  on  a  small  scale. 
I  have  examined  at  least  two  thousand  windows  of  this  kind 


and  of  the  other  Yenetian  ogees,  of  which  that  at  y  (in  which 
the  plain  side-piece  d  is  used  instead  of  the  ciisped  one)  is  the 
simplest;  and  I  never  found  one^  even  in  the  most  ruinous 
palaces  (in  which  they  had  had  to  sustain  the  distorted  weight 
of  falling  vv'alls)  in  which  the  central  piece  was  fissured ;  and 
this  is  the  only  danger  to  which  the  window  is  exposed ;  in 
other  respects  it  is  as  strong  an  arch  as  can  be  built. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  change  from  the  r  keystone 
to  the  s  keystone  was  instantaneous.  It  was  a  change  wrought 
out  by  many  curious  experiments,  which  we  shall  have  to  trace 
hereafter,  and  to  throw  the  resultant  varieties  of  form  into 
their  proper  groups. 

§  XXI.  One  step  more :  I  take  a  mid-cnsped  side  piece  in 
its  block  form  at  t,  with  the  bricks  which  load  the  back  of  it. 
Xow,  as  these  bricks  support  it  behind,  and  since,  as  far  as  the 
use  of  the  cusp  is  concerned,  it  matters  not  whether  its  weight 
be  in  marble  or  bi-icks,  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  ns  from  cut¬ 
ting  out  some  of  the  marble,  as  at  ?/,  and  filling  up  the  space 
with  bricks.  (  Why  we  should  take  a  fancy  to  do  this,  I  do 
not  pretend  to  guess  at  present ;  all  I  have  to  assert  is,  that,  if 
the  fancy  should  sti’ike  us,  there  would  be  no  harm  in  it). 
Substituting  this  side  piece  for  the  otlier  in  the  window  n,  we 
have  that  at  which  may,  perhaps,  be  of  some,  service  to  ns 
afterwards ;  here  we  hav^e  nothing  more  to  do  with  it  than  to 
note  that,  thus  built,  and  projierly  backed  by  brickwork,  it  is 


LRuskiii 


1’  ? 


^nnrij. 


CONSTRUCTION 


XI.  THE  ARCH  MASOX'RY. 


141 


just  as  strong  and  safe  a  form  as  that  at  n ;  but  that  this,  as 
well  as  every  variety  of  ogee  arch,  depends  entirely  for  its 
safety,  fitness,  and  beauty,  on  the  masonry  which  we  have  just 
analysed;  and  that,  built  on  a  large  scale,  and  with  many 
vonssoirs,  all  such  arches  would  bo  unsafe  and  absurd  in 
general  architecture.  Yet  they  may  be  used  occasionally  for 
the  sake  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  which  their  i-ich  and  fantas¬ 
tic  varieties  admit,  and  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  another  merit, 
exactly  the  opposite  of  the  constructional  ones  we  are  at  present 
examining,  that  they  seem  to  stand  by  enchantment. 

§  XXII.  In  the  above  reasonings,  the  inclination  of  the  joints 
of  the  vonssoirs  to  the  curves  of  the  arch  has  not  been  con¬ 
sidered.  It  is  a  question  of  much  nicety,  and  which  I  have 
not  been  able  as  yet  fully  to  investigate  :  but  the  natural  idea 
of  the  arrangement  of  these  lines  (which  in  round  arches  are 
of  course  perpendicular  to  the  curve)  Avould  be  that  every 
voussoir  should  have  the  lengths  of  its  outer  and  inner  arched 
surface  in  the  same  proporlion  to  each  other.  Either  this 
actual  law,  or  a  close  approximation  to  it,  is  assuredly  enforced 
in  the  best  Gothic  buildings. 

O 

§  XXIII.  I  may  sum  up  all  that  it  is  necessary  for  the  reader 
to  keep  in  mind  of  the  general  laws  connected  with  this  sub¬ 
ject,  by  giving  him  an  example  of  each  of  the  two  foians  of 
the  perfect  Gothic  arch,  uncusped  and  cusped,  treated  with 
the  most  sinq^le  and  magnificent  masonry,  and  partly,  in  both 
cases,  Mont-Cenisian. 

The  first,  Plate  V.,  is  a  window  from  the  Broletto  of  Como. 
It  shows,  in  its  filling,  first,  the  single-pieced  arch,  carried  on 
groujis  of  four  shafts,  and  a  single  slab  of  marble  filling  the 
space  above,  and  pierced  with  a  quatrefoil  (Mont-Cenisian, 
this),  while  the  mouldings  above  are  each  constructed  with  a 
separate  system  of  vonssoirs,  all  of  them  shaped,  I  think,  on 
the  principle  above  stated,  §  xxii.,  in  alternate  serpentine  and 
marble;  the  outer  arch  being  a  noble  example  of  the  pure 
uncusped  Gothic  construction,  h  of  Plate  III. 

§  xx^v^  Fig.  XXXIY.  is  the  masonry  of  the  side  arch  of, 
as  far  as  I  know  or  am  able  to  judge,  the  most  perfect  Gothic 


142 


XI.  THE  AECH  MASOXRY. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


sepulcliral  monument  in  tlie  world,  tlie  foursquare  canopy  of 
the  (nameless  ?)*  tomb  standing  over  the  small  cemetery  gate 
of  the  Church  of  St.  Anastasia  at  Verona.  I  shall  have  fre- 


Fig.  XXXIV. 


|uent  occasion  to  recur  to  this  monument,  and,  I  believe, 
shall  be  able  sufficiently  to  justify  the  terms  in  which  I  speak 
of  it :  meanwhile,  I  desire  only  that  the  reader  should  observe 


*  At  least  I  cannot  find  any  account  of  it  in  Maffei’s  “Verona,”  nor  any¬ 
where  else,  to  be  depended  upon.  It  is,  I  doubt  not,  a  work  of  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Vide  Appendix  19,  “Tombs  at  St.  Anasta- 


CONSTRUCTION 


XI.  THE  ARCH  MASOXRY. 


143 


the  severity  and  simplicity  of  the  arch  lines,  the  exquisitely 
delicate  suggestion  of  the  ogee  curve  in  the  apex,  and  chiefly 
the  use  of  the  cusp  in  giving  inward  weight  to  the  great  pieces 
of  stone  on  the  flanks  of  the  arch,  and  preventing  their  thrust 
outwards  from  being  severely  thrown  on  the  lowermost  stones. 
The  effect  of  this  arrangement  is,  that  the  whole  massy  canopy 
is  sustained  safely  by  four  slender  pillars  (as  will  be  seen  here¬ 
after  in  the  careful  plate  I  hope  to  give  of  it),  these  pillars 
being  rather  steadied  than  materially  assisted  against  the  thrust, 
by  iron  bars,  about  an  inch  thick,  connecting  them  at  the 
heads  of  the  abaci ;  a  feature  of  peculiar  importance  in  this 
monument,  inasmuch  as  we  know  it  to  be  part  of  the  original 
construction,  by  a  beautiful  little  Gothic  vu’cathed  pattern, 
like  one  of  the  hems  of  garments  of  Fra  Angelico,  running 
along  the  iron  bar  itself.  So  carefully,  and  so  far,  is  the 
system  of  decoration  carried  out  in  this  pure  and  lovely  monu¬ 
ment,  my  most  beloved  throughout  all  the  length  and  breadth 
of  Italy ; — rchief,  as  I  think,  among  all  the  sepulchral  marbles 
of  a  land  of  mourning. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


THE  AECH  LOAD. 


Fig.  XXXV. 


and  formed 
tlie  arcli 
less 


§  I.  In  the  preceding  enquiry  we  have  always  supposed 
either  that  the  load  upon  the  arch  was  perfectly  loose,  as  of 

gravel  or  sand,  or  that  it  was 
Mont-Cenisian, 
one  mass  with 
voussoirs,  of  more  or 
compactness. 

In  practice,  the  state  is 
usually  something  between 
the  two.  Over  bridges  and 
tunnels  it  sometimes  ap¬ 
proaches  to  the  condition  of 
mere  dust  or  yielding  earth ; 
but  in  architecture  it  is  most¬ 
ly  firm  masonry,  not  alto¬ 
gether  acting  with  the  vous¬ 
soirs,  yet  by  no  means  bearing 
on  them  with  perfectly  dead 
weight,  but  locking  itself  to¬ 
gether  above  them,  and  capa¬ 
ble  of  being  thrown  into  forms 
which  relieve  them,  in  some 
degree,  from  its  pressure. 

§  n.  It  is  evident  that  if  we  are  to  place  a  continuous  roof 
above  the  line  of  arches,  we  must  fill  up  the  intervals  between 
them  on  the  tops  of  the  columns.  "\Ye  have  at  present  nothing 
granted  us  but  the  bare  masonry,  as  here  at  «,  Fig.  XXXV., 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XII.  THE  ARCH  LOAD. 


145 


Fig.  XXXVL 


Cj 


_ 

n 

and  we  must  fill  np  the  intervals  between  the  semicircle  so  as 
to  obtain  a  level  line  of  support.  We  may  first  do  this  simply 
as  at  with  plain  mass  of 
wall ;  so  laying  the  roof  on 
the  top,  which  is  the 
method  of  the  pure  By¬ 
zantine  and  Italian  Romaii- 
escpie.  Blit  if  we  find  too 
much  stress  is  thus  laid  on 
the  arches,  we  may  intro¬ 
duce  small  second  shafts 
on  the  top  of  the  great 
shaft,  a,  Fig.  XXXVL, 
which  may  assist  in  carry¬ 
ing  the  roof,  conveying 
great  part  of  its  weight  at 
once  to  the  heads  of  the 
main  shafts,  and  relieving 
from  its  pressure  the  cen¬ 
tres  of  the  arches. 

§  III.  The  new  shaft 
thus  introduced  may  either 
remain  lifted  on  the  head 
of  the  great  shaft,  or  may 
be  carried  to  the  ground  in 
front  of  it,  or  through  it,  h. 

Fig.  XXXVI.  ;  in  which 
latter  case  the  main  shaft 
divides  into  two  or  more 
minor  shafts,  and  forms  a 
gioup  with  the  shaft 
brought  down  from  above. 

§  rv.  When  this  shaft, 
brought  from  roof  to 
ground,  is  subordinate  to  the  main  pier,  and  either  is  carried 
down  the  face  of  it,  or  forms  no  large  part  of  the  group,  tlie 
principle  is  Komanesque  or  Gothic,  h,  Fig.  XXXVL  When 


146 


XII.  THE  ARCH  LOAD. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


it  becomes  a  bold  central  shaft,  and  tlie  main  pier  splits  into 
two  minor  shafts  on  its  sides,  the  principle  is  Classical  or  Palla- 
dian,  c.  Fig.  XXXYI.  Which  latter  arrangement  becomes  ab¬ 
surd  or  unsatisfactory  in  proportion  to  the  sufhciencj  of  the 
main  shaft  to  carry  the  roof  without  the  help  of  the  minor 
shafts  or  arch,  which  in  many  instances  of  Palladian  work  look 
as  if  they  might  be  removed  without  danger  to  the  building. 

§  V,  The  form  a  is  a  more  pure  Xorthern  Gothic  type  than 
even  which  is  the  connecting  link  between  it  and  the  clas¬ 
sical  t}'pe.  It  is  found  chiefly  in  English  and  other  northern 
Gothic,  and  in  early  Lombardic,  and  is,  I  doubt  not,  derived 
as  above  explained.  Chap.  I.  §  xxvii.  is  a  general  French 
Gothic  and  French  Komaiiesque  form,  as  in  great  purity  at 
Y  alence. 

The  small  shafts  of  the  form  a  and  J,  as  being  northern, 
are  generally  connected  with  steep  vaulted  roofs,  and  receive 
for  that  reason  the  name  of  vaulting  shafts. 

§  VI.  Of  these  forms  5,  Fig.  XXX Y.,  is  the  purest  and 
most  sublime,  expressing  the  power  of  the  arch  most  distinctly. 
All  the  others  have  some  appearance  of  dovetailing  and  mor¬ 
ticing  of  timber  rather  than  stonework;  nor  have  I  ever  yet 
seen  a  single  instance,  quite  satisfactory,  of  the  management 
of  the  capital  of  the  main  sliaft,  when  it  had  either  to  sustain 
the  base  of  the  vaulting  shaft,  as  in  «,  or  to  suffer  it  to  pass 
through  it,  as  in  5,  Fig.  XXXYI.  Xor  is  the  bracket  which 
frequently  carries  the  vaulting  shaft  in  English  work  a  fitting 
support  for  a  poifion  of  the  fabric  which  is  at  all  events  pre¬ 
sumed  to  carry  a  considerable  part  of  the  weight  of  the  roof. 

§  VII.  The  triangular  spaces  on  the  flanks  of  the  arch  are 
called  Spandrils,  and  if  the  masonry  of  these  should  be  found, 
in  any  of  its  forms,  too  heavy  for  the  arch,  their  weight  may 
be  diminished,  while  their  strength  remains  the  same,  by  pierc¬ 
ing  them  with  circular  holes  or  lights.  This  is  rarely  neces¬ 
sary  in  ordinary  architecture,  though  sometimes  of  gi-eat  use  in 
bridges  and  iron  roofs  (a  succession  of  such  circles  may  be 
seen,  for  instance,  in  the  spandrils  at  the  Euston  Squai'e 
station)  ;  but,  from  its  constructional  value,  it  becomes  the 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XII.  THE  ARCH  LOAD. 


147 


best  form  in  wliicli  to  arrange  spandril  decorations,  as  we  shall 
see  hereafter. 

§  VIII.  The  height  of  the  load  above  the  arch  is  determined 
by  the  needs  of  the  building  and  possible  length  of  the  shaft , 
but  with  this  we  have  at  present  nothing  to  do,  for  we  have 
performed  the  task  which  was  set  us.  We  have  ascertained,) 
as  it  was  required  that  we  should  in  §  vi.  of  Chap,  III.  (A), 
the  construction  of  wads  ;  (B),  that  of  piers ;  (C),  that  of  piers 
with  lintels  or  arches  prepared  for  roofing.  We  have  next, 
therefore,  to  examine  (D)  the  structure  of  the  roof. 


CHAPTER  XIIX 


THE  KOOF. 


/ 


§  I.  Hithekto  oiir  enquiry  lias  been  unembarrassed  by  any 
I  considerations  relating  exclusively  either  to  the  exterior  or 
interior  of  buildings.  But  it  can  remain  so  no  longer.  As 
far  as  the  architect  is  concerned,  one  side  of  a  wall  is  gener¬ 
ally  the  same  as  another ;  but  in  the  roof  there  are  usually  two 
distinct  divisions  of  the  structure ;  one,  a  shell,  vault,  or  flat 
ceiling,  internally  visible,  the  other,  an  upper  structure,  built 
of  timber,  to  protect  the  lower;  or  of  some  ditferent  form,  to 
support  it.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  internally  visible  structure 
is  the  real  roof,  and  sometimes  there  are  .more  than  two  divi¬ 
sions,  as  in  St.  Paul’s,  where  we  have  a  central  shell  with  a  mask 
below  and  above.  Still  it  wdll  be  convenient  to  remember  the 
distinction  between  the  part  of  the  roof  which  is  usually  visi¬ 
ble  from  within,  and  whose  only  business  is  to  stand  strongly, 
and  not  fall  in,  which  I  shall  call  the  Roof  Proper;  and, 
secondly,  the  upper  roof,  which,  being  often  partly  supported 
by  the  lower,  is  not  so  much  concerned  with  its  own  stability 
as  with  the  weather,  and  is  appointed  to  throw  off  snow,  and 
get  rid  of  rain,  as  fast  as  possible,  which  I  shall  call  the  Roof 


§  II.  It  is,  however,  needless  for  me  to  eno:a2:e  the  reader 
in  the  discussion  of  the  various  methods  of  construction  of 
Roofs  Proper,  for  this  simple  reason,  that  no  person  without 
long  experience  can  tell  whether  a  roof  be  vdsely  constructed 
or  not ;  nor  tell  at  all,  even  with  help  of  any  amount  of  experi¬ 
ence,  without  examination  of  the  several  parts  and  bearings  of 
it,  vei'y  different  from  any  observation  possible  to  the  general 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XIII.  THE  ROOF. 


149 


critic :  and  more  than  tliis,  the  enquiry  would  be  useless  to  ns 
in  onr  Venetian  studies,  where  the  roofs  are  either  not  contem¬ 
porary  with  the  buildings,  or  flat,  or  else  vaults  of  the  simplest 
possible  constructions,  which  have  been  admirably  explained 
by  Willis  in  his  “  Architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages,”  Chap. 
VII.,  to  which  I  may  refer  the  reader  for  all  that  it  would  be 
well  for  him  to  know  respecting  the  connexion  of  the  different 
parts  of  the  vault  'with  the  shafts.  He  v’-onld  also  do  well  to 
read  the  passages  on  Tndor  vaulting,  pp.  185 — 193,  in  Mr. 
Garbett’s  rudimentary  Treatise  on  Design,  before  alluded  to.* 
I  shall  content  myself  therefore  with  noting  one  or  two  jioints 
on  which  neither  writer  has  had  occasion  to  touch,  respecting 
the  Hoof  Mask. 

§  III.  It  was  said  in  §  v.  of  Chapter  III.  that  we  should 
not  have  occasion,  in  speaking  of  roof  construction,  to  add 
materially  to  the  forms  then  suggested.  The  forms  which  we 
have  to  add  are  only  those  resulting  from  the  other  curves  of 
the  arch  developed  in  the  last  chapter;  that  is  to  say,  the 
various  eastern  domes  and  cupolas  arising  out  of  the  revolution 
of  the  horseshoe  and  ogee  curves,  together  with  the  well- 
known  Chinese  concave  roof.  All  these  forms  are  of  course 
purely  decorative,  the  bulging  outline,  or  concave  surface, 
being  of  no  more  use,  or  rather  of  less,  in  throwing  off  snow 
or  rain,  than  the  ordinary  spire  and  gable ;  and  it  is  rather 
curious,  therefore,  that  all  of  them,  on  a  small  scale,  should 
have  obtained  so  extensive  use  in  Germany  and  Switzerland, 
their  native  climate  being  that  of  the  east,  where  their  pur¬ 
pose  seems  rather  to  concentrate  light  upon  their  orbed  sur¬ 
faces.  I  much  doubt  their  applicability,  on  a  large  scale,  to> 
architecture  of  any  admirable  dignity  ;  their  chief  charm  is,  to, 
the  European  eye,  that  of  sti’angeness  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  pos¬ 
sible  that  in  the  east  the  bulging  form  may  be  also  delightful, 
from  the  idea  of  its  enclosing  a  volume  of  cool  air.  I  enjoy 
them  in  St.  Mark’s,  chiefly  because  they  increase  the  fantastic 
and  unreal  character  of  St.  Mark’s  Place ;  and  because  they 


*  Appendix  17 


150 


XIII.  THE  KOOF. 


CONSTKUCTION. 


appear  to  sympathise  with  an  expression,  common,  I  think,  to 
all  the  buildings  of  that  group,  of  a  natural  buoyancy,  as  if 
they  floated  in  the  air  or  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  But,  as¬ 
suredly,  they  are  not  features  to  be  recommended  for  imita¬ 
tion. 

§  lY.  One  form,  closely  connected  Avith  the  Chinese  con¬ 
cave,  is,  however,  often  constructively  right, — the  gable  with 

an  inward  angle,  occurring  with  ex¬ 
quisitely  picturesque  effect  through¬ 
out  the  domestic  architecture  of 
the  north,  esjiecially  Germany  and 
Switzerland 

either  an  attached  external  pent¬ 
house  I’oof,  for  protection  of  the 
wall,  as  in  Fig.  XXXYII.,  or  else  a 
kind  of  buttress  set  on  the  angle  of 
the  toAver ;  and  in  either  case  the 
roof  itself  being  a  simple  gable, 
continuous  beneath  it. 

§  v.  The  true  gable,  as  it  is  the 
simplest  and  most  natural,  so  I  es¬ 
teem  it  the  grandest  of  roofs  ; 
AAdiether  rising  in  ridgy  darkness,  like  a  grey  slope  of  slaty 
mountains,  over  the  preci2)itous  AAvalls  of  the  northern  cathe¬ 
drals,  or  stretched  in  burning  breadth  aboAm  the  AAdiite  and 
square-set  groups  of  the  southern  architecture.  But  this  dif¬ 
ference  between  its  slojie  in  the  northern  and  southern  struc¬ 
ture  is  a  matter  of  far  greater  imjAortance  than  is  commonly 
sujAposed,  and  it  is  this  to  Avhich  T  AAmuld  esj^ecially  direct  the 
reader’s  attention. 

§  A^i.  One  main  cause  of  it,  the  necessity  of  throwing  off 

*  I  do  not  speak  of  tlie  true  dome,  because  I  have  not  studied  its  con¬ 
struction  enough  to  know  at  what  largeness  of  scale  it  begins  to  be  rather 
a  tour  deforce  than  a  convenient  or  natural  form  of  roof,  and  because  the 
ordinary  spectators  choice  among  its  various  outlines  must  alwavs  be  de¬ 
pendent  on  ajsthetic  considerations  only,  and  can  in  no  wise  be  grounded  on 
anj  conception  of  its  infinitely  complicated  structural  principles. 


;  the  loAver  slope  being 


Fig.  XXXVH. 


COXSTRUCTIOX, 


XIII.  THE  ROOF. 


151 


snow  in  the  north,  has  been  a  thousand  times  alluded  to  : 
another  I  do  not  remember  having  seen  noticed,  namely,  that 
rooms  in  a  roof  are  comfortably  habitable  in  the  north,  which 
are  pcinfnl  sotto  in  Italy  ;  and  that  there  is  in  wet 

climates  a  natnral  tendency  in  all  men  to  live  as  high  as  possi¬ 
ble,  out  of  the  damp  and  mist.  These  two  canses,  together 
with  accessible  quantities  of  good  timber,  have  indnced  in  the 
north  a  general  steep  pitch  of  gable,  which,  when  ronnded  or 
sqnared  above  a  tower,  becomes  a  spire  or  turret  5  and  this 
feature,  worked  ont  with  elaborate  decoration,  is  the  key-note 
of  the  whole  system  of  aspiration,  so  called,  which  the  German 
ci-itics  have  so  ingeniously  and  falsely  ascribed  to  a  devotional 
sentiment  pervading  the  hlorthern  Gothic :  I  entirely  and 
boldly  deny  the  whole  theory;  onr  cathedrals  were  for  the 
most  part  built  by  worldly  people,  who  loved  the  world,  and 
would  have  gladly  staid  in  it  for  ever  ;  whose  best  hope  v  as 
the  escaping  hell,  which  they  thought  to  do  by  building  cathe¬ 
drals,  but  who  had  very  vague  conceptions  of  Heaven  in  gen¬ 
eral,  and  very  feeble  desires  respecting  their  entrance  therein  ; 
and  tiie  form  of  the  spired  cathedral  has  no  more  intentional 
reference  to  Heaven,  as  distinguished  from  the  flattened  slope 
of  the  Greek  pediment,  than  the  steep  gable  of  a  Honnan 
house  has,  as  distinguished  from  the  flat  roof  of  a  Syrian  one. 
AVe  may  now,  with  ingenious  pleasure,  trace  such  symbolic 
characters  in  the  form ;  Ave  may  noAV  use  it  with  such  definite 
meaning;  but  Ave  only  prevent  ourselves  from  all  right  under¬ 
standing  of  history,  by  attributing  much  influence  to  these 
poetical  symbolisms  in  the  formation  of  a  national  style,  d  h^ 
human  race  are,  for  the  most  part,  not  to  be  moved  by  such 
silken  cords  ;  and  the  chances  of  damp  in  the  cellar,  or  of  loose 
tiles  in  the  roof,  have,  unhappily,  much  more  to  do  with  the 
fashions  of  a  man’s  house  building  than  his  ideas^  of  celestal 
happiness  or  angelic  virtue.  Associations  of  affection  have  fai 
higher  poAver,  and  forms  which  can  be  no  otherAvise  accounted 
for  may  often  be  explained  by  reference  to  the  natural  fea¬ 
tures  of  the  country,  or  to  anything  which  habit  must  have 
rendered  familiar,  and  therefore  delightful ;  but  the  direct 


152 


XIII.  THE  KOOF. 


CONSTEUCTIOH. 


spiibolisation  of  a  sentiment  is  a  weak  motive  with  all  men, 
and  far  more  so  in  the  practical  minds  of  the  north  than  among 
the  early  Christians,  who  were  assuredly  quite  as  heavenly- 
minded,  when  they  built  basilicas,  or  cut  conchas  out  of  the 
catacombs,  as  were  ever  the  ISTorman  barons  or  monks. 

§  VII.  There  is,  however,  in  the  north  an  animal  activity 
which  materially  aided  the  system  of  building  begun  in  mere 
utility, — an  animal  life,  naturally  expressed  in  erect  work,  as 
the  languor  of  the  south  in  reclining  or  level  work.  Imagine 
tl.ie  difference  between  the  action  of  a  man  urging  himself  to 
his  work  in  a  snow  storm,  and  the  inaction  of  one  laid  at  his 
length  on  a  sunny  bank  among  cicadas  and  fallen  olives,  and 
you  will  have  the  key  to  a  whole  group  of  sympathies  which 
were  forcefully  expressed  in  the  architecture  of  both  ;  remem¬ 
bering  always  that  sleep  would  be  to  the  one  luxury,  to  the 
mther  death. 

§  Viii.  And  to  the  force  of  this  vital  instinct  we  have  far¬ 
ther  to  add  the  influence  of  natural  scenery;  and  chiefly  of 
the  groujis  and  wildernesses  of  the  tree  which  is  to  the  German 
mind  what  the  olive  or  palm  is  to  the  southern,  the  spruce  fir. 
The  eye  which  has  once  been  habituated  to  the  continual  ser¬ 
ration  of  the  pine  forest,  and  to  the  multiplication  of  its  infi¬ 
nite  pinnacles,  is  not  easily  offended  by  the  repetition  of  simi¬ 
lar  forms,  nor  easily  satisfied  by  the  simplicity  of  flat  or 
massive  outlines.  Add  to  the  influence  of  the  pine,  that  of 
the  poplar,  more  especially  in  the  valleys  of  France  ;  but  think 
of  the  spruce  chiefly,  and  meditate  on  the  difference  of  feeling 
with  M-hich  the  ISTorthman  would  be  inspired  by  the  frost-work 
wreathed  upon  its  glittering  point,  and  the  Italian  by  the  dark 
green  depth  of  sunshine  on  the  broad  table  of  the  stone-pine  * 

*  I  shall  not  be  thought  to  have  overrated  the  effect  of  forest  scencrj'  on 
the  northern  mind;  but  I  vas  glad  to  hear  a  Spanish  gentleman,  the  other 
day,  describing,  together  with  his  own,  the  regret  which  the  peasants  in 
his  neighborhood  had  testified  for  the  loss  of  a  noble  stone-pine,  one  of  the 
grandest  in  Spain,  which  its  proprietor  had  suffered  to  be  cut  down  for 
small  gain.  He  said  that  the  mere  spot  where  it  had  grown  was  still  popu¬ 
larly  known  as  “  El  Pino.” 


OONSTllTJCTION. 


XIII.  THE  ROOF. 


153 


(and  consider  by  tlie  way  wlietlier  the  spruce  fir  be  a  more 
heavenly-minded  tree  than  those  dark  canopies  of  the  Medi¬ 
terranean  isles). 

§  IX.  Circumstance  and  sentiment,  therefore,  aiding  each 
other,  the  steep  roof  becomes  generally  adopted,  and  delighted 
in,  throughout  the  north ;  and  then,  with  the  gradual  exag¬ 
geration  with  which  every  pleasant  idea  is  pursued  by  the 
human  mind,  it  is  raised  into  all  manner  of  peaks,  and  points, 
and  ridges ;  and  pinnacle  after  pinnacle  is  added  on  its  Hanks, 
and  the  walls  increased  in  height,  in  proportion,  until  we  get 
indeed  a  very  sublime  mass,  but  one  which  has  no  more  prin¬ 
ciple  of  religious  aspiration  in  it  than  a  child’s  tower  of  cards. 
AYliat  is  more,  the  desire  to  build  high  is  comjilicated  with  the 
peculiar  love  of  the  grotesque  *  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
north,  together  with  especial  deliglit  in  multiplication  of  small 
forms,  as  well  as  in  exaggerated  points  of  shade  and  energy, 
and  a  certain  degree  of  consequent  insensibility  to  perfect 
grace  and  quiet  truthfulness  ;  so  that  a  northern  architect  could 
not  feel  the  beauty  of  the  Elgin  marbles,  and  there  will  always 
be  (in  those  who  have  devoted  themselves  to  this  particular 
school)  a  certain  incapacity  to  taste  the  finer  characters  of 
Greek  art,  or  to  understand  Titian,  Tintoret,  or  Eaphael  : 
whereas  among  the  Italian  Gothic  workmen,  this  capacity  was 
never  lost,  and  Hino  Pisano  and  Orcagna  conld  have  under¬ 
stood  the  Theseus  in  an  instant,  and  would  have  receiv^ed  from 
it  new  life.  There  can  be  no  question  that  theirs  was  the 
greatest  school,  and  carried  out  by  the  greatest  men  ;  and  that 
while  those  who  began  with  tins  school  could  perfectly  well 
feel  Eouen  Cathedral,  those  who  study  the  Northern  Gothic, 
remain  in  a  narrowed  field — one  of  small  pinnacles,  and  dots, 
and  crockets,  and  twitched  faces — and  cannot  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  a  broad  surface  or  a  grand  line,  nevertheless  the 
northern  school  is  an  admirable  and  delightful  thing,  but  a 
lower  thing  than  the  southern.  The  Gothic  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  of  Venice  is  in  harmony  with  all  that  is  grand  in  all 


*  Appendix  8. 


154 


XIII.  THE  KOOF. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


the  world  :  that  of  the  north  is  in  harmony  with  the  grotesque 
northern  spirit  only. 

§  X.  We  are,  however,  beginning  to  lose  sight  of  onr  roof 
structure  in  its  spirit,  and  must  return  to  our  text.  As  the 
height  of  the  walls  increased,  in  sympathy  with  the  rise  of  the 
roof,  while  their  thickness  remained  the  same,  it  became  more 
and  more  necessary  to  sujiport  them  by  buttresses  ;  but — and 
this  is  another  point  that  the  reader  must  specially  note — it  is 
not  the  steep  roof  mask  which  requires  the  buttress,  but  the 
vaulting  beneath  it ;  the  roof  mask  being  a  mere  wooden  frame 
tied  together  by  cross  timbers,  and  in  small  buildings  often 
put  together  on  the  ground,  raised  afterwards,  and  set  on  the 
walls  like  a  hat,  bearing  vertically  upon  them ;  and  farther,  I 
believe  in  most  cases  the  northern  vaulting  requires  its  great 
array  of  external  buttress,  not  so  much  from  any  peculiar  bold¬ 
ness  in  its  own  forms,  as  from  the  greater  comparative  thin¬ 
ness  and  height  of  the  walls,  and  more  determined  throwing 
of  the  whole  weight  of  the  roof  on  particular  points.  ISTow 
the  oonnexion  of  the  interior  frame-work  (or  true  roof)  with 
the  buttress,  at  such  points,  is  not  visible  to  the  spectators 
from  without ;  but  the  relation  of  the  roof  mask  to  the  top  of 
the  wall  which  it  protects,  or  from  which  it  springs,  is  per¬ 
fectly  visible  ;  and  it  is  a  point  of  so  great  importance  in  the 
effect  of  the  building,  that  it  will  be  well  to  make  it  a  sub¬ 
ject  of  distinct  consideration  in  the  following  Chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 

§  I.  It  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  Sixth  Chapter  we 
paused  (§  x.)  at  the  point  where  the  addition  of  brackets  to 
the  ordinary  wall  cornice  would  have  converted  it  into  a  struc¬ 
ture  proper  for  sustaining  a  roof.  Xow  the  wall  cornice  was 
treated  throughout  our  enquiry  (compare  Chapter  YII.  §  v.)  as 
the  capital  of  the  wall,  and  as  forming,  by  its  concentration, 
the  capital  of  the  shaft.  But  we  must  not  reason  hack  from 
the  capital  to  the  cornice,  and  suppose  that  an  extension  of  the 
principles  of  the  capital  to  the  whole  length  of  the  wall,  will 
serve  for  the  roof  cornice ;  for  all  our  conclusions  respecting 
the  capital  were  based  on  the  supposition  of  its  being 
adapted  to  carry  considerable  weight  condensed  on  its  abacus  : 
but  the  roof  cornice  is,  in  most  cases,  required  rather  to 
project  boldly  than  to  carry  weight ;  and  arrangements  are 
therefore  to  be  adopted  for  it  which  will  secure  the  projection 
of  large  surfaces  without  being  calculated  to  resist  extra¬ 
ordinary  pressure.  This  object  is  obtained  by  the  use  of 
brackets  at  intervals,  which  are  the  peculiar  distinction  of  the 
roof  cornice. 

§  II.  Roof  cornices  are  generally  to  be  divided  into  two 
great  families :  the  first  and  simplest,  those  which  are  com¬ 
posed  merely  by  the  projection  of  the  edge  of  the  roof  mask 
over  the  wall,  sustained  by  such  brackets  or  spurs  as  may  be 
necessary  ;  the  second,  those  which  provide  a  walk  round  the 
edge  of  the  roof,  and  which  require,  therefore,  some  stronger 
support,  as  well  as  a  considerable  mass  of  building  above  or 
beside  the  roof  mask,  and  a  parapet.  These  two  families  we 
shall  consider  in  succession. 


156 


XIV.  THE  EOOF  COKX'ICE.  ' 


CONSTRUCTION. 


§  III.  1.  The  Eaved  Cornice.  We  maj  give  it  this  name, 
as  represented  in  the  simplest  form  by  cottage  eaves.  It  is 
used,  however,  in  bold  projection,  both  in  north,  and  south,  and 
east ;  its  use  being,  in  the  north,  to  throw  the  rain  well  away 
from  the  wall  of  the  building  ;  in  the  south  to  give  it  shade  ; 
and  it  is  ordinarily  constructed  of  the  ends  of  the  timbers  of 
the  roof  mask  (with  their  tiles  or  shingles  continued  to  the 
edge  of  the  cornice),  and  sustained  by  spurs  of  timber.  This 
is  its  most  picturesque  and  natui-al  form ;  not  inconsistent  with 
great  splendor  of  architecture  in  the  mediieval  Italian  domes¬ 
tic  buildings,  superb  in  its  mass  of  cast  shadow,  and  giving 
rich  effect  to  the  streets  of  Swiss  towns,  even  wdien  they  have 
no  other  claim  to  interest.  A  farther  value  is  given  to  it  by 
its  waterspouts,  for  in  order  to  avoid  loading  it  with  weight  of 
1  water  in  the  gutter  at  the  edge,  where  it  would  be  a  strain  on 
V  the  fastenings  of  the  pipe,  it  has  spouts  of  discharge  at  inter¬ 
vals  of  three  or  four  feet, — rows  of  magnificent  leaden  or  iron 
dragons’  heads,  full  of  delightful  character,  except  to  any  per¬ 
son  passing  along  the  middle  of  the  street  in  a  heavy  shower. 
I  have  had  my  share  of  their  kindness  in  my  time,  but  owm 
them  no  grudge ;  on  the  contrary,  much  gratitude  for  the  de¬ 
light  of  their  fantastic  outline  on  the  calm  blue  sky,  when  they 
had  no  work  to  do  but  to  open  their  iron  mouths  and  pant  in 
the  sunshine. 

§  IV.  When,  however,  light  is  more  valuable  than  shidow, 
or  when  the  architecture  of  the  wall  is  too  fair  to  be  concealed, 
it  becomes  necessary  to  draw  the  cornice  into  narrower  limits ; 
a  change  of  considerable  importance,  in  that  it  permits  the 
gutter,  instead  of  being  of  load  and  hung  to  the  edge  of  the 
cornice,  to  be  of  stone,  and  supported  by  brackets  in  the  wall, 
these  brackets  becoming  proper  recipients  of  after  decoration 
(and  sometimes  associated  with  the  stone  channels  of  discharge, 
called  gargoyles,  which  belong,  however,  more  properly  to  the 
other  family  of  cornices).  The  most  perfect  and  beautiful 
example  of  this  kind  of  cornice  is  the  Venetian,  in  which  the 
ram  from  the  tiles  is  received  in  a  stone  gutter  supported  by 
small  brackets,  delicately  moulded,  and  having  its  outer  lower 


COXSTRUCTIOX. 


XIY.  THE  EOOF  CORNICE. 


157 


edge  decorated  with  the  English  dogtootli  moulding,  whose 
sharp  zigzag  mingles  richly  with  the  curved  edges  of  the  tiling. 
I  know  no  cornice  more  beautiful  in  its  extreme  simplicity  and 
serviceableness. 

§  V.  The  cornice  of  the  Greek  Doric  is  a  condition  of  the 
same  kind,  in  which,  however,  there  are  no  brackets,  but  use¬ 
less  appendages  hung  to  the  bottom  of  the  gutter  (giving, 
however,  some  impression  of  support  as  seen  from  a  distance), 
and  decorated  with  stone  symbolisms  of  raindrops.  The  brack¬ 
ets  are  not  allowed,  because  they  would  interfere  with  the 
sculpture,  which  in  this  architecture  is  juit  beneath  the  cor¬ 
nice  ;  and  the  overhanging  form  of  the  gutter  is  nothing 
more  than  a  vast  dripstone  moulding,  to  keep  the  rain  from 
such  sculpture  :  its  decoration  of  guttse,  seen  in  silver  points 
against  the  shadow,  is  pretty  in  feeling,  with  a  kind  of  con¬ 
tinual  refreshment  and  reniombrance  of  rain  in  it ;  but  the 
whole  arrangement  is  awkward  and  meagre,  and  is  only  en¬ 
durable  when  the  eye  is  quickly  drawm  away  from  it  to  sculp¬ 
ture. 

§  VI.  In  later  cornices,  invented  for  the  Greek  orders,  and 
farther  developed  by  the  Eomans,  the  bracket  appears  in  true 
importance,  though  of  barbarous  and  effeminate  outline  :  and 
gorgeous  decorations  are  applied  to  it,  and  to  the  various  hori¬ 
zontal  mouldings  which  it  carries,  some  of  them  of  great 
beauty,  and  of  the  highest  value  to  the  mediaeval  architects 
who  imitated  them.  But  a  singularly  gross  mistake  was  made 
in  the  distribution  of  decoration  on  these  rich  cornices  (I  do 
not  know  when  first,  nor  does  it  matter  to  me  or  to  the  reader), 
namelv,  the  chariiine:  with  ornament  the  under  surface  of  the 
cornice  between  the  brackets,  that  is  to  say,  the  exact  piece  of 
tlie  whole  edifice,  from  top  to  bottom,  where  ornament  is  least 
visible.  I  need  hardly  say  much  respecting  the  wisdom  of 
this  procedure,  excusable  only  if  the  whole  building  were 
covered  with  ornament ;  but  it  is  curious  to  see  the  way  in 
which  modei’n  architects  have  copied  it,  even  when  they  had 
little  enough  ornament  to  spare.  For  instance,  I  suppose  few 
persons  look  at  the  Athenoeum  Club-house  without  feeling 


158 


XIY.  THE  EOOF  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


vexed  at  tlie  meagreness  and  meanness  of  tlie  windows  of  tlie 
ground  door :  if,  however,  they  look  up  under  the  cornice,  and 
have  good  eyes,  they  will  perceive  that  the  architect  has  re¬ 
served  his  decorations  to  put  between  the  brackets ;  and  by 
going  up  to  the  first  fioor,  and  out  on  the  gallery,  they  may 
succeed  in  obtaining  some  gli incises  of  the  designs  of  the  said 
decorations. 

§  VII.  Such  as  they  are,  or  were,  these  cornices  were  soon 
considered  essential  parts  of  the  “  order”  to  which  they  be¬ 
longed  ;  and  the  same  wisdom  which  endeavored  to  fix  the 
proportions  of  the  orders,  appointed  also  that  no  order  should 
go  without  its  cornice.  The  reader  has  probably  heard  of  the 
architectural  division  of  superstructure  into  architrave,  frieze, 
and  cornice ;  parts  which  have  been  appointed  by  great  archi¬ 
tects  to  all  their  work,  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  great  rheto¬ 
ricians  have  ordained  that  every  speech  shall  have  an  exordium, 
and  narration,  and  peroration.  The  reader  will  do  well  to  com 
sider  that  it  may  be  sometimes  just  as  possible  to  carry  a  roof, 
and  get  rid  of  rain,  without  such  an  arrangement,  as  it  is  to 
tell  a  plain  fact  without  an  exordium  or  peroration  ;  but  he 
must  very  absolutely  consider  that  the  architectural  peroration 
or  cornice  is  strictly  and  sternly  limited  to  the  end  of  the  wall’s 
speech, — that  is,  to  the  edge  of  the  roof ;  and  that  it  has  noth¬ 
ing  whatever  to  do  with  shafts  nor  the  orders  of  them.  And 
he  will  then  be  able  fully  to  enjoy  the  farther  ordinance  of  the 
late  Homan  and  Renaissance  architects,  who,  attaching  it  to 
the  shaft  as  if  it  were  ])art  of  its  shadow,  and  having  to  employ 
their  shafts  often  in  places  where  they  came  not  near  the  roof, 
forthwith  cut  the  roof-cornice  to  pieces  and  attached  a  bit  of  it 
to  every  column  ;  thenceforward  to  be  carried  by  the  uidiappy 
shaft  wherever  it  went,  in  addition  to  any  other  work  on  which 
it  might  happen  to  be  employed.  I  do  not  recollect  among 
any  living  beings,  except  Renaissance  architects,  any  instance 
of  a  parallel  or  comparable  stujiidity ;  but  one  can  imagine  a 
savage  getting  hold  of  a  ])iece  of  one  of  our  iron  wire  ropes, 
with  its  rings  upon  it  at  intervals  to  bind  it  together,  and  pull¬ 
ing  the  wires  asunder  to  apply  them  to  separate  purposes  ;  but 


CONSTRTTCTIOK. 


XIV.  THE  EOOF  CORXICE. 


159 


iinagimng  there  was  magic  in  tlie  ring  that  hound  them,  and  so 
cutting  that  to  pieces  also,  and  fastening  a  little  hit  of  it  to 
every  wire. 

§  vm.  Thus  much  may  serve  us  to  know  respecting  the 
first  family  of  wall  cornices.  The  second  is  immeasurably  more 
important,  and  includes  the  cornices  of  all  the  best  buildings 
in  the  wmrld.  It  has  derived  its  best  form  from  mediievalt 
military  architectui-e,  which  imperatively  recpiired  two  things ; 
first,  a  parapet  which  should  permit  sight  and  offence,  and 
afford  defence  at  the  same  time ;  and  secondly,  a  projection 
bold  enough  to  enable  the  defenders  to  rake  the  bottom  of 
the  wall  with  falling  bodies ;  projection  which,  if  the  wall 
happened  to  slope  inwards,  required  not  to  be  small.  The 
thoroughly  magnificent  forms  of  cornice  thus  developed  by 
necessity  in  military  buildings,  were  adopted,  with  more  or  less 
of  boldness  or  distinctness,  in  domestic  architecture,  according 
to  the  temper  of  the  times  and  the  circumstances  of  the  indi¬ 
vidual — decisively  in  the  baron’s  house,  imperfectly  in  the 
burgher’s;  gradually  they  found  their  way  into  ecclesiastical 
architecture,  under  wise  modifications  in  the  early  cathedrals, 
with  infinite  absurdity  in  the  imitations  of  them  ;  diminishing 
in  size  as  their  original  purpose  sank  into  a  decorative  one,  un¬ 
til  we  find  battlements,  two-and-a-quarter  inches  square,  decorat¬ 
ing  the  gates  of  the  Philanthropic  Society. 

§  IX.  There  are,  therefore,  two  distinct  features  in  all  cor¬ 
nices  of  this  kind ;  first,  the  bracket,  now  become  of  enormous 
importance  and  of  most  serious  practical  service ;  the  second, 
the  parapet :  and  these  two  features  we  shall  consider  in  suc¬ 
cession,  and  in  so  doing,  shall  learn  all  that  is  needful  for  us  to 
know,  not  only  respecting  cornices,  but  respecting  brackets  in 
general,  and  balconies. 

§  X.  1.  The  Bracket.  In  the  simplest  form  of  military  cor¬ 
nice,  the  brackets  are  composed  of  two  or  more  long  stones, 
supporting  each  other  in  gradually  increasing  projection,  with 
roughly  rounded  ends,  Fig.  XXXVIII.,  and  the  parapet  is 
simply  a  low  wall  carried  on  the  ends  of  these,  leaving,  of 
course,  behind,  or  within  it,  a  hole  between  each  bracket  for 


ICO 


XIV.  THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION 


tlie  convenient  dejection  of  liot  sand  and  lead.  This  form 
is  best  seen,  I  think,  in  the  old  Scotch  castles  ;  it  is  very 

grand,  bnt  has  a  giddy  look,  and  one  is 
afraid  of  the  whole  thing  toppling  off  the 
wall.  The  next  step  was  to  deejien  the 
brackets,  so  as  to  get  them  propped  against 
a  great  depth  of  the  main  ranijiart,  and  to 
have  the  inner  ends  of  the  stones  held  by  a 
greater  weight  of  that  main  wall  above; 
while  small  arches  were  thrown  from  bracket 
to  bracket  to  carry  the  jiarapet  'wall  more 
securely.  This  is  the  most  perfect  form  of 
cornice,  completely  satisfying  the  eye  of  its 
secnrity,  giving  full  jirotection  to  the  wall,  and  a^iplicable  to  all 
architecture,  the  interstices  between  the  brackets  being  filled 
np,  when  one  does  not  want  to  throw  boiling  lead  on  any  body 
below,  and  the  projection  being  always  delightful,  as  giving 
greater  command  and  view  of  the  building,  from  its  angles,  to 
those  walking  on  the  rampart.  And  as,  in  military  buildings, 
there  were  usually  towers  at  the  angles  (round  which  the  bat¬ 
tlements  swept)  in  order  to  flank  the  walls,  so  often  in  the 
translation  into  civil  or  ecclesiastical  architecture,  a  small  turret 
remained  at  the  angle,  or  a  more  bold  projection  of  balcony,  to 
give  larger  prospect  to  those  upon  the  rampart.  This  cornice, 
perfect  in  all  its  parts,  as  arranged  for  ecclesiastical  architecture, 
and  exquisitely  decorated,  is  the  one  employed  in  the  duomo 
of  Florence  and  campanile  of  Giotto,  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken  as,  I  suppose,  the  most  perfect  architecture  in  the  world. 

§  XI.  In  less  important  positions  and  on  smaller  edifices,  this 
cornice  diminishes  in  size,  while  it  retains  its  arraufjement,  and 
at  last  we  find  nothing  but  the  spirit  and  form  of  it  left ;  the 
real  practical  purpose  having  ceased,  and  arch,  brackets  and 
all,  being  cut  out  of  a  single  stone.  Thus  we  find  it  used  in 
early  buildings  throughout  the  whole  of  the  north  and  south 
of  Europe,  in  forms  sufficiently  represented  liy  the  two  exam¬ 
ples  in  Plate  lY. :  1,  from  St.  Antonio,  Padua;  2,  from  Sens 
in  France. 


Fig.  XXX vm. 


CONSTIirrCTION. 


XIY.  THE  EOOF  CORKICE. 


101 


Fig.  XXXIX. 


a 


X 


ct 


§  XII.  I  ivisli,  however,  at  present  to  fix  the  reader’s  atten¬ 
tion  on  the  form  of  the  bracket  itself ;  a  most  important  feat¬ 
ure  in  modern  as  well  as  ancient  architecture.  The  first  idea  of 
a  bracket  is  that  of  a  long  stone  or  piece  of  timbe 
jirojecting  from  the  wall,  as  a,  Fig.  XXXIX., 
of  which  the  strength  depends  on  the  toughness 
of  the  stone  or  wood,  ancW  the  stability  on  the 
weight  of  wall  above  it  (unless  it  be  the  end 
of  a  main  beam).  But  let  it  be  supposed  that 
the  structure  at  «,  being  of  the  required  projec¬ 
tion,  is  found  too  weak :  then  we  may  strengthen 
it  in  one  of  three  ways;  (1)  by  putting  a  second 
or  third  stone  beneath  it,  as  at  h  ,*  (2)  b}'’  giving 
it  a  spur,  as  at  c  ‘  (3)  by  giving  it  a  shaft  and 
another  bracket  below,  d  the  great  use  of  this 
arrangement  being  that  the  lowermost  bracket 
has  the  help  of  the  weight  of  the  shaft-length 
of  wall  above  its  insertion,  which  is,  of  course, 
greater  than  the  weight  of  the  small  shaft :  and 
then  the  lower  bracket  may  be  farther  helped  by 
the  structure  at  h  or  e. 

§  XIII.  Of  these  structures,  a  and  c  are  evident¬ 
ly  adapted  especially  for  wooden  buildings ;  h  and  d  for  stone 
ones ;  the  last,  of  course,  susceptible  of  the  richest  decoration. 
Fig.  XL.  and  superbly  employed  in  the  cornice  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  of  Monza :  but  all  are  beautiful  in  their  way, 
and  are  the  means  of,  I  think,  nearly  half  the  pic¬ 
turesqueness  and  power  of  mediieval  building ;  the 
forms  5  and  c  being,  of  course,  the  most  frequent ; 
a,  when  it  occurs,  being  usually  rounded  ofl^,  as  at  a, 
Fig.  XL. ;  Z»,  also,  as  in  Fig.  XXXYIII.,  or  else  it¬ 
self  composed  of  a  single  stone  cut  into  the  form 
of  the  group  h  here.  Fig.  XL.,  or  plain,  as  at  <?, 
which  is  also  the  proper  form  of  the  brick  bracket, 
when  stone  is  not  to  be  had.  The  reader  will  at 
once  perceive  that  the  form  d  is  a  barbarism  (unless 
when  the  scale  is  small  and  the  weight  to  be  carried  exceeding- 


,L 


“a 


1G2 


XIV.  THE  ROOF  CORNICE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


ly  light) :  it  is  of  course,  therefore,  a  favorite  form  with  the 
Tieuaissance  architects ;  and  its  introduction  is  one  of  the  first 
corruptions  of  tlie  Venetian  architecture, 

§  XIV.  There  is  one  point  necessary  to  be  noticed,  thougli 
hearing  on  decoration  more  than  construction,  before  we  leave 
tlie  subject  of  the  bracket.  The  whole  power  of  the  construc¬ 
tion  depends  upon  the  stones  being  well  let  into  the  wall ;  and 
the  first  function  of  the  decoration  should  be  to  give  the 
idea  of  tiiis  insertion,  if  possible ;  at  all  events,  not  to  contra¬ 
dict  this  idea.  If  the  reader  wfill  glance  at  any  of  the  brackets 
used  in  the  ordinary  architecture  of  London,  he  will  find  them 
of  some  such  character  as  Fig.  XLI. ;  not  a  bad  form  in  itself, 
but  exquisitely  absurd  in  its  curling  lines,  which  give  the  idea 
of  some  writhing  suspended  tendril,  instead  of  a  stiff  support. 
Fig.  XLI.  and  by  their  careful  avoidance  of  the  wall  make  the 
bracket  look  pinned  on,  and  in  constant  danger  of 
sliding  down.  This  is,  also,  a  Classical  and  Renais¬ 
sance  decoration. 

§  XV.  2.  The  Parapet.  Its  forms  are  fixed  in 
military  architecture  by  the  necessities  of  the  art  of 
war  at  the  time  of  building,  and  are  always  beauti¬ 
ful  wherever  they  have  been  really  thus  fixed ;  delightful  in 
the  variety  of  their  setting,  and  in  the  quaint  darkness  of  their 
shot-holes,  and  fantastic  changes  of  elevation  and  outline. 
Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  the  swiftly  discerned  dif¬ 
ference  between  the  masculine  irregularity  of  such  true  battle¬ 
ments,  and  the  formal  pitifulness  of  those  which  are  set  on 
modern  buildings  to  give  them  a  military  air, — as  on  the  iail 
at  Edinburgh. 

§  X'\  I.  Respecting  the  Parapet  for  mere  safeguard  upon 
buildings  not  military,  there  are  just  two  fixed  laws.  It  should 
be  pierced,  otherwise  it  is,  not  recognised  from  below  for  a 
I)ai  ajiot  at  all,  and  it  should  not  be  in  the  form  of  a  battlement, 
especially  in  church  architecture. 

The  most  comfortable  heading  of  a  true  jiarapet  is  a  plain 
level  on  which  the  arm  can  be  rested,  and  along  which  it  can 
glide.  Any  jags  or  elevations  are  disagreeable ;  the  latter,  as 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XIV.  THE  ROOF  CORXICE. 


163 


interrupting  the  view  and  disturbing  the  eje,  if  they  are 
liiglier  than  the  arm,  the  former,  as  opening  some  aspect  of 
danger  if  they  are  much  lower  ;  and  the  inconvenience,  there¬ 
fore,  of  the  battlemented  form,  as  well  as  the  worse  than 
absurdity,  the  bad  feeling,  of  the  appliance  of  a  military  feature 
to  a  church,  ought  long  ago  to  have  determined  its  rejection. 
Still  (for  the  question  of  its  picturesque  value  is  here  so  closely 
connected  with  that  of  its  practical  use,  that  it  is  vain  to  en¬ 
deavor  to  discuss  it  separately)  there  is  a  certain  agreeableness 
in  the  way  in  which  the  jagged  outline  dovetails  the  shadow  of 
the  slated  or  leaded  roof  into  the  top  of  the  wall,  which  may 
make  the  use  of  the  battlement  excusable  where  there  is  a  dif¬ 
ficulty  in  managing  some  unvaried  line,  and  where  the  expense 
of  a  2aierced  parapet  cannot  be  encountered :  but  remember 
ahvays,  that  the  value  of  the  battlement  consists  in  its  letting 
shadow  into  the  light  of  the  wall,  or  vice  versd^  when  it  comes 
against  light  sky,  letting  the  light  of  the  sky  into  the  shade  o£ 
the  wall ;  but  that  the  actual  outline  of  the  jiarajiet  itself,  if 
the  eye  be  arrested  uiion  tliis,  instead  of  upon  the  alternation 
of  shadow,  is  as  iigly  a  succession  of  line  as  can  by  any  possi¬ 
bility  be  invented.  Therefore,  the  battlemented  parapet  may 
only  be  used  where  this  alternation  of  shade  is  certain  to  be 
shown,  under  nearly  all  conditions  of  effect ;  and  where  the 
lines  to  be  dealt  with  are  on  a  scale  which  may  admit  battle^ 
ments  of  bold  and  manly  size.  The  idea  that  a  battlement  is 
an  ornament  anywhere,  and  that  a  miserable  and  diminutive 
imitation  of  castellated  outliu'e  will  always  serve  to  fill  up  blanks 
and  Gothicise  unmanageable  spaces,  is  one  of  the  great  idiocies 
of  the  present  day.  A  battlement  is  in  its  origin  a  piece  of 
wall  large  enough  to  cover  a  man’s  body,  and  however  it  may 
be  decorated,  or  pierced,  or  finessed  away  into  traceries,  as  long 
as  so  much  of  its  outline  is  retained  as  to  simgest  its  origin,  so 
long  its  size  must  remain  undimmished.  To  crown  a  turret 
six  feet  high  with  chopjied  battlements  three  inches  wide,  is 
children’s  Gothic  :  it  is  one  of  the  paltry  falsehoods  for  which 
there  is  no  excuse,  and  part  of.  the  system  of  using  models  of 
architecture  to  decorate  architecture,  wdiicli  we  shall  her,pafter 


1G4 


XIV.  THE  HOOF  COKXICE. 


CONSTKUCTION. 


note  as  one  of  the  chief  and  most  destructive  follies  of  the 
Renaissance ;  *  and  in  the  present  day  the  practice  may  be 
classed  as  one  which  distinguishes  the  architects  of  whom  thei’e 
is  no  hope,  who  have  neither  eye  nor  head  for  their  work,  and 
who  must  pass  their  lives  in  vain  struggles  against  the  refrac¬ 
tory  lines  of  their  own  buildings. 

§  XVII.  As  the  only  excuse  for  the  battlemented  parapet  is 
its  alternation  of  shadow,  so  the  only  fault  of  the  natiiml  or 
level  parapet  is  its  monotony  of  line.  This  is,  however,  in 
practice,  almost  always  broken  by  the  pinnacles  of  the  but¬ 
tresses,  and  if  not,  may  be  varied  by  the  tracery  of  its  pene¬ 
trations.  The  forms  of  these  evidently  admit  every  kind  of 
change;  for  a  stone  parapet,  however  pierced,  is  sure  to  be 
strong  enough  for  its  purpose  of  protection,  and,  as  regards  the 
strength  of  the  building  in  general,  the  lighter  it  is  the  better. 
More  fantastic  forms  may,  therefore,  be  admitted  in  a  jiarapet 
than  in  any  other  architectural  feature,  and  for  most  services, 
the  Flamboyant  parapets  seem  to  me  preferable  to  all  others ; 
especially  when  the  leaden  roofs  set  off  by  points  of  darkness 
the  lace-like  intricacy  of  penetration.  These,  however,  as  well 
as  the  forms  usually  given  to  Renaissance  balustrades  (of  which, 
by  the  bye,  the  best  piece  of  criticism  I  know  is  the  sketch  in 
“  David  Copperfield  ”  of  the  personal  appearance  of  the  man 
who  stole  Jip),  and  the  other  and  finer  forms  invented  by  Paul 
Veronese  in  his  architectural  backgrounds,  together  with  the 
pure  columnar  balustrade  of  Venice,  must  be  considered  as 
altogether  decorative  features. 

§  xviii.  So  also  are,  of  course,  the  jagged  or  crown-like 

,  *  Not  of  Kenaissance  alone  :  the  practice  of  modelling  buildings  on  a 

minute  scale  for  niches  and  tabcrnacle-work  has  always  been  more  or  less 
admitted,  and  I  suppose  mithority  for  diminutive  battlements  might  be 
gathered  from  the  Gothic  of  almost  every  period,  as  well  as  for  many  other 
faults  and  mistakes  ;  no  Gothic  school  having  ever  been  thoroughl}^  S3'stema- 
tised  or  perfected,  even  in  its  ])cst  times.  But  that  a  mistaken  decoration 
sometimes  occurs  among  a  crowd  of  noble  ones,  is  no  more  an  excuse  for 
the  habitual — far  less,  the  exclusive — use  of  such  a  decoration,  than  the 
accidental  or  seeming  misconstructions  of  a  Greek  chorus  arc  an  excuse  foi 
a  school  boy’s  ungrammatical  exercise. 


CONSTKUCTION. 


XIV.  THE  ROOF  OORHICE. 


165 


■finishings  of  walls  emjDloyed  where  no  real  parapet  of  protec¬ 
tion  is  desired ;  originating  in  the  defences  of  outworks  and 
single  walls :  these  are  used  much  in  the  east  on  walls  sur¬ 
rounding  unroofed  courts.  The  richest  examples  of  such 
decoration  are  Arabian;  and  from  Cairo  they  seem  to  have 
been  brought  to  Venice.  It  is  probable  that  few  of  my  readers, 
however  familiar  the  general  form  of  the  Ducal  Palace  may 
liave  been  rendered  to  them  by  innumerable  drawings,  have  any 
distinct  idea  of  its  roof,  owing  to  the  staying  of  the  eye  on  its 
superb  parapet,  of  which  we  shall  give  account  hereafter.  In 
most  of  the  Venetian  cases  the  parapets  which  surround  roofing 
are  very  sufficient  for  protection,  except  that  the  stones  of 
which  they  are  composed  apj)ear  loose  and  infirm :  but  their 
purpose  is  entirely  decorative ;  every  wall,  whether  detached 
or  roofed,  being  indiscriminately  fringed  with  Arabic  forms  of 
parapet,  more  or  less  Gothicised,  according  to  the  lateness  of 
their  date. 

I  think  there  is  no  other  point  of  importance  requiring 
illustration  respecting  the  roof  itself,  or  its  cornice :  but  this 
Venetian  form  of  •ornamental  parapet  connects  itself  curiously, 
at  the  angles  of  nearly  all  the  buildings  on  which  it  occurs, 
with  the  pinnacled  system  of  the  north,  founded  on  the  struc¬ 
ture  of  the  buttress.  This,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  to  be  the 
subject  of  the  fifth  division  of  our  inquiry. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  BUTTRESS. 

§  I.  We  have  hitherto  supposed  ourselves  concerned  with 
the  support  of  vertical  pressure  only  ;  and  the  arch  and  roof 
have  been  considered  as  forms  of  abstract  strength,  without 
reference  to  the  means  by  which  their  lateral  pressure  was  to 
be  resisted.  Few  readers  will  need  now  to  be  reminded,  that, 
every  arch  or  gable  not  tied  at  its  base  by  beams  or  bars, 
exercises  a  lateral  pressure  upon  the  walls  which  sustain  it, — 
pressure  which  may,  indeed,  be  met  and  sustained  by  increas- 
ing  the  thickness  of  the  wall  or  vertical  piers,  and  which  is  in 
reality  thus  met  in  most  Italian  buildings,  but  may,  with  less 
expenditure  of  material,  and  with  (perhaps)  more  graceful 
effect,  be  met  by  some  particular  application  of  the  pi-ovisions 
against  lateral  pressure  called  Buttresses.  These,  therefore, 
we  are  next  to  examine, 

§  II.  Buttresses  are  of  many  kinds,  according  to  the  char¬ 
acter  and  direction  of  the  lateral  forces  they  are  intended  to 
resist.  But  their  tirst  broad  division  is  into  buttresses  which 
meet  and  break  the  force  liefore  it  arrives  at  the  wall,  and 
buttresses  which  stand  on  the  lee  side  of  the  wall,  and  prop  it 
against  the  force. 

The  lateral  forces  which  walls  have  to  sustain  are  of  three 
distinct  kinds :  dead  weight,  as  of  masonry  or  still  water  ; 
moving  weight,  as  of  wind  or  running  water;  and  sudden  con¬ 
cussion,  as  of  earth(|nakes,  explosions,  Ac, 

Clearly,  dead  weight  can  only  be  resisted  by  the  buttress 
acting  as  a  prop;  for  a  buttress  on'  the  side  of,  or  towards  the 
weight,  would  only  add  to  its  effect.  This,  then,  forms  the 
first  great  class  of  buttressed  architecture ;  lateral  thrusts,  of 


CONSTRUCTIOIT. 


XV,  THE  BUTTRESS. 


167 


roofing  or  arches,  being  met  by  props  of  masonry  outside — 
the  thrust  from  within,  the  prop  without;  or  the  crushing 
force  of  water  on  a  ship’s  side  met  by  its  cross  timbers — tlie 
thrust  here  from  without  the  wall,  the  prop  within. 

Moving  weight  may,  of  course,  be  resisted  by  the  prop  on 
the  lee  side  of  the  wall,  but  is  often  more  effectually  met,  on 
the  side  which  is  attacked,  by  buttresses  of  peculiar  forms, 
cunning  buttresses,  which  do  not  attempt  to  sustain  the  weight, 
but  parry  it,  and  throw  it  off  in  directions  clear  of  the  wall. 

Tliirdly :  concussions  and  vibratory  motion,  though  in 
reality  only  supported  by  tlie  prop  buttress,  must  be  provided 
for  by  buttresses  on  both  sides  of  the  wall,  as  their  direction 
cannot  be  foreseen,  and  is  continually  changing. 

We  shall  briefly  glance  at  these  three  systems  of  buttress¬ 
ing  ;  but  the  two  latter  being  of  small  importance  to  our  pres¬ 
ent  purpose,  may  as  well  be  dismissed  first. 

§  III.  1.  Buttresses  for  guard  against  moving  weight  and 
set  towards,  the  weight  they  resist. 

The  most  familiar  instance  of  this  kind  of  buttress  we  have 
in  the  sharp  piers  of  a  bridge,  in  the  centre  of  a  powerful 
stream,  which  divide  the  current  on  their  edges,  and  throw  it 
to  each  side  under  the  arches,  A  ship’s  bow  is  a  buttress  of 
the  same  kind,  and  so  also  the  ridge  of  a  breastplate,  both 
adding  to  the  strength  of  it  in  resisting  a  cross  blow,  and  giving 
a  better  chance  of  a  bullet  glancing  aside.  In  Switzeikand,  pro¬ 
jecting  buttresses  of  this  kind  are  often  built  round  churches, 
heading  up  hill,  to  divide  and  throw  off  the  avalanches.  The 
various  forms  given  to  piers  and  harbor  quays,  and  to  the  bases 
of  lighthouses,  in  order  to  meet  the  force  of  the  waves,  are  all 
conditions  of  this  kind  of  buttress.  But  in  works  of  orna¬ 
mental  architecture  such  buttresses  are  of  rare  occurrence  ; 
and  I  merely  name  them  in  order  to  mark  their  place  in  our 
architectural  system,  since  in  the  investigation  of  our  present 
subject  we  shall  not  meet  with  a  single  example  of  them, 
unless  sometimes  the  angle  of  the  foundation  of  a  palace  set 
against  the  sweep  of  the  tide,  or  the  wooden  piers  of  some 
canal  bridge  quivering  in  its  current. 


168 


XV.  THE  BUTTKESS. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


§  IV.  2.  Buttresses  for  guard  against  vibratory  motion. 

The  whole  formation  of  this  kind  of  buttress  resolves  itself 
into  mere  expansion  of  the  base  of  the  wall,  so  as  to  make  it 
Stand  steadier,  as  a  man  stands  with  his  feet  apart  when  he  is 
likely  to  lose  his  balance.  This  approach  to  a  pyramidal  form 
is  also  of  great  use  as  a  guard  against  the  action  of  artillery ; 
that  if  a  stone  or  tier  of  stones  be  battered  out  of  the  lower 
jiortions  of  the  wall,  the  whole  upper  part  may  not  topple  over 
or  crumble  down  at  once.  Various  forms  of  this  buttress, 
sometimes  applied  to  particular  points  of  the  wall,  sometimes 
forming  a  great  sloping  rampart  along  its  base,  are  frequent  in 
buildings  of  countries  exposed  to  earthquake.  They  give  a 
peculiarly  heavy  outline  to  much  of  the  architecture  of  the 
kingdom  of  I^aples,  and  they  are  of  the  form  in  which  strength 
and  solidity  are  first  naturally  sought,  in  the  slope  of  the 
wall.  The  base  of  Guy’s  Tower  at  Warwick  is  a 
singularly  bold  example  of  their  military  use ;  and  so,  in  gen¬ 
eral,  bastion  and  rampart  profiles,  where,  however,  the  object 
of  stability  against  a  shock  is  complicated  with  that  of  sustain¬ 
ing  weight  of  earth  in  the  rampart  behind. 

§  V.  3.  Prop  buttresses  against  dead  weight. 

This  is.  the  group  with  which  we  have  principally  to  do  ; 
and  a  buttress  of  this  kind  acts  in  two  ways,  partly  by  its 
weight  and  partly  by  its  strength.  It  acts  by  its  weight  when  ' 
its  mass  is  so  great  that  the  weight  it  sustains  cannot  stir  it, 
but  is  lost  upon  it,  buried  in  it,  and  annihilated :  neither  the 
shape  of  such  a  buttress  nor  the  cohesion  of  its  materials  are 
of  much  consequence ;  a  heap  of  stones  or  sandbags,  laid  up 
against  the  wall,  will  answer  as  well  as  a  built  and  cemented 
mass. 

But  a  buttress  acting  by  its  strength  is  not  of  mass  sufficient 
to  resist  the  weight  by  mere  inertia ;  but  it  conveys  the  weight 
rtirough  its  body  to  something  else  which  is  so  capable ;  as,  for 
instance,  a  man  leaning  against  a  door  with  his  hands,  and 
I>ropping  himself  against  the  ground,  conveys  the  force  which 
would  open  or  close  the  door  against  him  through  his  body  to 
the  ground.  A  buttress  acting  in  this  way  must  be  of  per- 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XV.  THE  BUTTRESS. 


169 


fectly  colierent  materials,  and  so  strong  that  though  the  weight 
to  he  borne  could  easily  move  it,  it  cannot  break  it :  this  kind 
of  buttress  may  be  called  a  conducting  buttress.  Practically, 
however,  the  two  modes  of  action  are  always  in  some  sort 
united.  Again,  the  weight  to  be  borne  may  either  act  gener¬ 
ally  on  the  whole  wall  surface,  or  with  excessive  energy  on 
particular  points  :  when  it  acts  on  the  whole  wall  surface,  the 
whole  wall  is  generally  supported ;  and  the  arrangement  be¬ 
comes  a  continuous  rampart,  as  a  dyke,  or  bank  of  reservoir. 

§  VI.  It  is,  however,  very  seldom  that  lateral  force  in  archi¬ 
tecture  is  equally  distributed.  In  most  cases  the  weight  of 
the  roof,  or  the  force  of  any  lateral  thrust,  are  more  or  less 
contined  to  certain  points  and  directions.  In  an  early  state  of 
architectural  science  this  definiteness  of  direction  is  not  yet 
clear,  and  it  is  met  by  uncertain  application  of  mass  or 
strength  in  the  buttress,  sometimes  by  mere  thickening  of  the 
wall  into  square  piers,  which  are  partly  piers,  partly  buttresses, 
as  in  Horman  keeps  and  towers.  But  as  science  advances,  the 
weight  to  be  borne  is  designedly  and  decisively  thrown  upon 
certain  points ;  the  direction  and  degree  of  the  forces  which 
are  then  received  are  exactly  calculated,  and  met  by  conduct¬ 
ing  buttresses  of  the  smallest  possible  dimensions ;  themselves, 
in  their  turn,  supported  by  vertical  buttresses  acting  by  weight, 
and  these  perhaps,  in  their  turn,  by  another  set  of  conducting 
buttresses  :  so  that,  in  the  best  examples  of  such  arrangements, 
the  weight  to  be  borne  may  be  considered  as  the  shock  of  an 
electric  fluid,  which,  by  a  hundred  different  rods  and  channels, 
is  divided  and  carried  away  into  the  ground. 

§  VII.  In  order  to  give  greater  weight  to  the  vertical  but¬ 
tress  piers  which  sustain  the  conducting  buttresses,  they  are 
loaded  with  pinnacles,  which,  however,  are,  I  believe,  in  all 
the  buildings  in  which  they  become  very  prominent,  merely 
decorative :  they  are  of  some  use,  indeed,  by  their  weight ; 
but  if  tliis  were  all  for  which  they  were  put  there,  a  few  cubic 
feet  of  lead  would  much  more  securely  answer  the  purpose, 
without  any  danger  from  exposure  to  wind.  If  the  reader 
likes  to  ask  any  Gothic  architect  with  whom  he  may  happen 


170 


XV.  THE  BUTTRESS. 


CONSTEUCTION. 


to  be  acquainted,  to  substitute  a  lump  of  lead  for  bis  pinnacles, 
be  will  see  bj  tbe  expression  of  bis  face  bow  far  be  considers 
tbe  pinnacles  decorative  members.  In  tbe  work  wbicb  seems 
to  me  tbe  great  type  of  simple  and  masculine  buttress  struc¬ 
ture,  tbe  apse  of  Beauvais,  tbe  pinnacles  are  altogetber  insig¬ 
nificant,  and  are  evidently  added  just  as  exclusively  to  enter-' 
tain  tbe  eye  and  lighten  tbe  aspect  of  tbe  buttress,  as  tbe 
slight  shafts  wbicb  are  set  on  its  angles ;  while  in  other  very 
noble  Gothic  buildings  tbe  pinnacles  are  introduced  as  niches 
for  siatues,  without  any  reference  to  construction  at  all :  and 
sometimes  even,  as  in  tbe  tomb  of  Can  Signoria  at  Yerona,  on 
small  piers  detached  from  tbe  main  building. 

§  VIII.  I  believe,  therefore,  that  tbe  development  of  tbe  pin¬ 
nacle  is  merely  a  part  of  tbe  general  erectness  and  picturesque¬ 
ness  of  northern  work  above  alluded  to  :  and  that,  if  there  bad 
been  no  other  place  for  tbe  pinnacles,  tbe  Gothic  builders 
would  have  put  them  on  tbe  tops  of  their  arches  (they  often 
did  on  tbe  tops  of  gables  and  pediments),  rather  than  not  have 
liad  them ;  but  tbe  natural  position  of  tbe  pinnacle  is,  of 
course,  where  it  adds  to,  rather  than  diminishes,  tbe  stability 
of  tbe  building ;  that  is  to  say,  on  its  main  wall  piers  and  tbe 
vertical  piers  at  tbe  buttresses.  And  thus  tbe  edifice  is  sur¬ 
rounded  at  last  by  a  complete  company  of  detached  piers  and 
pinnacles,  each  sustaining  an  inclined  prop  against  tbe  central 
wall,  and  looking  something  like  a  band  of  giants  bolding  it 
up  with  tbe  butts  of  their  lances.  This  arrangement  would 
imply  tbe  loss  of  an  enormous  space  of  ground,  but  tbe  inter¬ 
vals  of  tbe  buttresses  are  usually  walled  in  below,  and  form 
minor  chapels. 

§  IX.  Tbe  science  of  this  arrangement  has  made  it  the 
subject  of  much  enthusiastic  declamation  among  tbe  Gothic 
architects,  almost  as  unreasonable,  in  some  respects,  as  tbe 
declamation  of  tbe  Renaissance  architects  respecting  Greek 
structure.  The  fact  is,  that  tbe  whole  northern  buttress  sys¬ 
tem  is  based  on  tbe  grand  requirement  of  tall  windows  and 
vast  masses  of  light  at  tbe  end  of  tbe  apse.  In  order  to  gain 
this  quantity  of  light,  tbe  piers  between  the  windows  are 


CONSTKUCTION. 


XV.  THE  BUTTKESS. 


171 


diminished  in  thickness  until  they  are  far  too  weak  to  hear  the 
roof,  and  then  sustained  by  external  buttresses.  In  the  Italian 
method  the  light  is  rather  dreaded  than  desired,  and  the  wall 
is  made  wide  enough  between  the  windows  to  bear  the  roof, 
and  GO  left.  In  fact,  the  siiuplest  expression  of  the  difference 
in  the  systems  is,  that  a  northern  apse  is  a  southern  one  with 


Fig.  xm. 


its  inter-fenestrial  piers  set  edgeways.  Thus,  a,  Fig.  XLII.,  is 
the  general  idea  of  the  southern  apse ;  take  it  to  pieces,  and 
set  all  its  piers  edgeways,  as  at  h,  and  you  have  the  northern 
one.  You  gain  much  light  for  the  interior,  but  you  cut  the 
exterior  to  pieces,  and  instead  of  a  bold  rounded  or  polygonal 
surface,  ready  for  any  kind  of  decoration,  you  have  a  series 
of  dark  and  damp  cells,  which  no  device  that  I  have  yet 
seen  has  succeeded  in  decorating  in  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
maimer.  If  the  system  be  farther  carried,  and  a  second  or 
third  order  of  buttresses  be  added,  the  real  fact  is  that  we 
have  a  building  standing  on  two  or  three  rows  of  concentric 
piers,  with  the  roof  off  the  whole  of  it  except  the  central 
circle,  and  only  ribs  left,  to  carry  the  weight  of  the  bit  of 
remaining  roof  in  the  middle  ;  and  after  the  eye  has  been 
accustomed  to  the  bold  and  simple  rounding  of  the  Italian 
apse,  the  skeleton  character  of  the  disposition  is  painfully  felt. 
After  spending  some  months  in  Venice,  I  thought  Bourges 
Cathedral  looked  exactly  like  a  half-built  ship  on  its  shores. 
It  is  useless,  however,  to  dispute  respecting  the  merits  of  the 
two  systems  :  both  are  noble  in  their  place  ;  the  Northern 
decidedly  the  most  scientific,  or  at  least  involving  the  greatest 


173 


XV.  THE  BUTTEESS. 


CONSTHUCTIOJT. 


display  of  science,  the  Italian  the  calmest  and  purest,  this 
liaving  in  it  the  sublimity  of  a  calm  heaven  or  a  windless  noon, 
the  other  that  of  a  mountain  flank  tormented  by  the  north 
wind,  and  withering  into  grisly  furrows  of  alternate  chasm 
and  crag. 

§  X.  If  I  have  succeeded  in  making  the  reader  understand 
the  veritable  action  of  the  buttress,  he  will  have  no  difficulty 
in  determining  its  fittest  form.  He  has  to  deal  with  two  dis¬ 
tinct  kinds  ;  one,  a  narrow  vertical  pier,  acting  principally  by 
its  freight,  and  crowned  by  a  pinnacle ;  the  other,  commonly 
called  a  Flying  buttress,  a  cross  bar  set  from  such  a  pier  (when 
detached  from  the  building)  against  the  main  wall.  This 
latter,  then,  is  to  be  considered  as  a  mere  prop  or  shore,  and  its 
use  by  the  Gothic  architects  might  be  illustrated  by  the  suppo¬ 
sition  that  we  were  to  build  all  our  houses  with  walls  too  thin 
to  stand  without  wooden  props  outside,  and  then  to  substitute 
stone  props  for  wooden  ones.  I  have  some  doubts  of  the  real 
dignity  of  such  a  proceeding,  but  at  all  events  the  merit  of  the 
form  of  the  flying  buttress  depends  on  its  faithfully  and  visibly 
performing  this  somewhat  humble  office ;  it  is,  therefore,  in  its 
purity,  a  mere  sloping  bar  of  stone,  with  an  arch  beneath  it  to 
carry  its  weight,  that  is  to  say,  to  prevent  the  action  of  gravity 
from  in  any  wise  deflecting  it,  or  causing  it  to  break  down¬ 
wards  under  the  lateral  thrust ;  it  is  thus  formed  quite  simple 
in  ISTotre  Dame  of  Paris,  and  in  the  Cathedral  of  Beauvais, 
while  at  Cologne  the  sloping  bars  are  pierced  with  quatrefoils, 
and  at  Amiens  with  traceried  arches.  Both  seem  to  me  effem¬ 
inate  and  false  in  principle ;  not,  of  course,  that  there  is  any 
occasion  to  make  the  flying  buttress  heavy,  if  a  light  one  will 
answer  the  purpose;  but  it  seems  as  if  some  security  were 
sacrificed  to  ornament.  At  Amiens  the  arrangement  is  now 
seen  to  great  disadvantage,  for  the  early  traceries  have  been 
replaced  by  base  flamboyant  ones,  utterly  weak  and  despicable. 
Of  the  degradations  of  the  original  form  which  took  place  in 
after  times,  I  have  spoken  at  p.  35  of  the  “  Seven  Lamps.” 

§  XI.  The  form  of  the  common  buttress  must  be  familiar  to 
the  eye  of  every  reader,  sloping  if  low,  and  thrown  into 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XV.  THE  BUTTRESS. 


173 


successive  steps  if  they  are  to  he  carried  to  any  considerable 
lieiglit.  There  is  much  dignity  in  them  when  they  are  of 
essential  service ;  but  even  in  their  best  examples,  their  awk¬ 
ward  angles  are  among  the  least  manageable  features  of  the 
Korthern  Gothic,  and  tiie  whole  organisation  of  its  system  was 
destroyed  by  their  unnecessary  and  lavish  application  on  a 
diminished  scale ;  until  the  buttress  became  actually  confused 
with  the  shaft,  and  we  find  strangely  crystallised  masses  of 
diminutive  buttress  applied,  for  merely  vertical  support,  in  the 
northern  tabernacle  work ;  while  in  some  recent  copies  of  it 
the  principle  has  been  so  far  distorted  that  the  tiny  buttress- 
ings  look  as  if  they  carried  the  superstructure  on  the  points 
of  their  pinnacles,  as  in  the  Cranmer  memorial  at  Oxford. 
Indeed,  in  most  modern  Gothic,  the  architects  evidently  con' 
sider  buttresses  as  convenient  breaks  of  blank  surface,  and 
general  apologies  for  deadness  of  wall.  They  stand  in  the 
place  of  ideas,  and  I  think  are  supposed  also  to  have  something 
of  the  odor  of  sanctity  about  them  ;  otherwise,  one  hardly  sees 
wliy  a  warehouse  seventy  feet  high  should  have  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and  a  chapel,  which  one  can  just  get  into  with  one’s  hat 
off,  should  have  a  bunch  of  them  at  every  corner  ;  and  worse 
than  this,  they  are  even  thought  ornamental  when  they  can  be 
of  no  possible  use ;  and  these  stupid  penthouse  outlines  are 
forced  upon  the  eye  in  every  species  of  decoration :  in  St. 
Margaret’s  Chapel,  West  Street,  there  are  actually  a  couple  of 
buttresses  at  the  end  of  every  pew. 

§  XII.  It  is  almost  impossible,  in  consequence  of  these  un¬ 
wise  repetitions  of  it,  to  contemplate  the  buttress  witliout  some 
degree  of  prejudice  5  and  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  most 
justifiable  causes  of  the  unfortunate  aversion  with  which  many 
of  our  best  architects  regard  the  whole  Gothic  school.  It 
may,  however,  always  be  regarded  with  respect  when  its  foim 
is  simple  and  its  service  clear ;  but  no  treason  to  Gothic  can  be 
greater  than  the  use  of  it  in  indolence  or  vanity,  to  enhance 
the  intricacies  of  structure,  or  occupy  the  vacuities  of  design. 


CHAPTEE  XYL 


FOEM  OF  APEETUEE. 

§  I.  We  liave  now,  in  order,  examined  the  means  of  raising 
walls  and  sustaining  roofs,  and  we  have  finally  to  consider  the 
structure  of  the  necessary  apertures  in  the  wall  veil,  the  door 
and  window  ;  respecting  which  there  are  three  main  points  to 
be  considered. 

1.  The  form  of  the  aperture,  i.e.,  its  outline,  its  size,  and 

the  forms  of  its  sides. 

2.  The  filling  of  the  aperture,  i.e.,  valves  and  glass,  and 

their  holdings. 

3.  The  protection  of  the  aperture,  and  its  appliances,  i.e.^ 

canopies,  porches,  and  balconies.  We  shall  examine 

these  in  siu^cession. 

§  II.  1.  The  form  of  the  aperture :  and  first  of  doors.  We 
will,  for  the  present,  leave  out  of  the  question  doors  and  gates 
in  unroofed  walls,  the  forms  of  these  being  very  arbitrary,  and 
confine  ourselves  to  the  consideration  of  doors  of  entrance  into 
roofed  buildings.  Such  doors  will,  for  the  most  part,  be  at,  or 
near,  the  base  of  the  building ;  except  when  raised  for  pur¬ 
poses  of  defence,  as  in  the  old  Scotch  border  towers,  and  our 
own  Martello  towers,  or,  as  in  Switzerland,  to  permit  access  in 
deep  snoAV,  or  when  stairs  are  carried  up  outside  the  house  for 
convenience  or  magnificence.  But  in  liiost  cases,  whether  high 
or  low,  a  door  may  be  assumed  to  be  considerably  lowei  than 
the  apartments  or  buildings  into  which  it  gives  admission,  and 
therefore  to  have  some  height  of  wall  above  it,  whose  weigfit 
must  be  carried  by  the  heading  of  the  door.  It  is  clear,  there- 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XYI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


175 


fore,  tliat  tlie  best  beading  must  be  an  arcb,  because  the 
strongest,  and  that  a  square-beaded  door  must  be  wrong,  unless 
under  Mont-Cenisian  masonry ;  or  else,  unless  tbe  top  of  tbe 
door  be  tbe  roof  of  tbe  building,  as  in  low  cottages.  And  a 
square-beaded  door  is  just  so  mucb  more  wrong  and  ugly  than  a 
connexion  of  main  shafts  by  lintels,  as  tbe  weight  of  wall  above 
tbe  door  is  likely  to  be  greater  than  that  above  tbe  main  shafts. 
Tims,  Avbile  I  admit  the  Greek  general  forms  of  temple  to  be 
admirable  in  their  kind,  I  think  tbe  Greek  door  always  offen¬ 
sive  and  uumanageable. 

§  III.  We  have  it  also  determined  by  necessity,  that  tbe 
apertures  shall  be  at  least  above  a  man’s  height,  with  perpen¬ 
dicular  sides  (for  sloping  sides  are  evidently  unnecessary,  and 
even  inconvenient,  therefore  absurd)  and  level  threshold ;  and 
this  aperture  we  at  present  suppose  sinqily  cut  through  the 
wall  without  any  bevelling  of  the  jambs.  Such  a  door,  wide 
enough  for  two  persons  to  pass  each  other  easily,  and  with  such 
fillings  or  valves  as  we  may  hereafter  find  expedient,  may  be 
fit  enough  for  any  building  into  which  entrance  is  lequiied 
neither  often,  nor  by  many  persons  at  a  time.  But  when 
entrance  and  egress  are  constant,  or  Fig.  xmL 

required  by  crowds,  certain  further 
modifications  must  take  place. 

§  IV.  When  entrance  and  egress 
are  constant,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  the  valves  will  be  absent  or  un- 
fastenecl, — that  people  will  be  pass¬ 
ing  more  quickly  than  when  the  entrance  and  egress  are  unfre¬ 
quent,  and  that  the  square  angles  of  the  wall  will  be  incon¬ 
venient  to  such  quick  passers  through.  It  is  evident,  there¬ 
fore,  that  what  would  be  done  in  time,  for  themselves,  by  the  ‘ 
passing  multitude,  should  be  done  for  them  at  once  by  the 
architect  j  and  that  these  angles,  which  would  be  worn  away 
by  friction,  should  at  once  be  bevelled  off,  or,  as  it  is  called, 
siilayed,  and  the  most  contracted  part  of  the  aperture  made  as 
short  as  possible,  so  that  the  plan  of  the  entrance  should  be¬ 
come  as  at  a,  Fig.  XLIII. 


176 


XYI.  FOEM  OF  APEETURE. 


CONSTRUCTIOK. 


§  V.  Farther.  As  persons  on  the  outside  may  often 
approach  the  door  or  depart  from  it,  Reside  the  building,  so  as 
to  turn  aside  as  they  enter  or  leave  the  door,  and  therefore 
touch  its  jamb,  but,  on  the  inside,  will  in  almost  every  case 
approach  the  door,  or  depart  from  it  in  the  direct  line  of  the 
entrance  (people  generally  forward  when  they  enter  a 

hall,  court,  or  chamber  of  any  kind,  and  being  forced  to  do  so 
when  they  enter  a  passage),  it  is  evident  that  the  bevelling  may 
be  very  slight  on  the  inside,  but  should  be  large  on  the  outside, 
so  that  the  plan  of  the  aperture  should  become  as  at  h,  Fig. 
XLIII.  Farther,  as  the  bevelled  wall  cannot  conveniently 
carry  an  unbevelled  arch,  the  door  arch  must  be  bevelled  also, 
and  the  aj^erture,  seen  from  the  outside,  will  have  somewhat 
the  aspect  of  a  small  cavern  diminishing  towards  the  interior. 

§  VI.  If,  however,  beside  frequent  entrance,  entrance  is 
required  for  multitudes  at  the  same  time,  the  size  of  the  aper¬ 
ture  either  must  be  increased,  or  other  apertures  must  be  intro¬ 
duced.  It  may,  in  some  buildings,  be  optional  with  the  archi¬ 
tect  whether  he  shall  give  many  small  doors,  or  few  large 
ones ;  and  in  some,  as  theatres,  amphitheatres,  and  other  places 
where  the  crowd  are  apt  to  be  impatient,  many  doors  are  by 
far  the  best  arrangement  of  the  two.  Often,  however,  the 
pui’poses  of  the  building,  as  when  it  is  to  be  entered  by  pro¬ 
cessions,  or  where  the  crowd  most  usually  enter  in  one  direc¬ 
tion,  require  the  large  single  entrance  ;  and  (for  here  again  the 
lesthetic  and  stnictural  laws  cannot  be  separated)  the  expres¬ 
sion  and  harmony  of  the  building  require,  in  nearly  every  case, 
an  entrance  of  largeness  proportioned  to  the  multitude  which 
is  to  meet  within.  Xothing  is  more  unseemly  than  that  a 
great  multitude  should  find  its  way  out  and  in,  as  ants  and 
wasps  do,  through  holes ;  and  nothing  more  undignified  than 
the  paltry  doors  of  many  of  our  English  cathedrals,  which  look 
as  if  they  were  made,  not  for  the  open  egress,  but  for  the 
surreptitious  drainage  of  a  stagnant  congregation.  Besides, 
the  expression  of  the  church  door  should  lead  us,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  desire  at  least  the  western  entrance  to  be  single, 
partly  because  no  man  of  right  feeling  would  willingly  lose  the 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XVI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


17? 


idea  of  unity  and  fellowship  in  going  up  to  worship,  which  is 
suggested  by  the  vast  single  entrance  ;  partly  because  it  is  at 
the  entrance  that  the  most  serious  words  of  the  building  are 
always  addressed,  by  its  sculptures  or  inscriptions,  to  the 
worshipper ;  and  it  is  well,  that  these  words  should  be  spoken 
to  all  at  once,  as  by  one  great  voice,  not  broken  up  into  weak 
repetitions  over  minor  doors. 

In  practice  the  matter  has  been,  I  suppose,  regulated  almost 
altogether  by  convenience,  the  western  doors  being  single  in 
small  churches,  while  in  the  larger  the  entrances  become  three 
or  five,  the  central  door  remaining  always  principal,  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  the  fine  sense  of  composition  which  the  medioeval 
builders  never  lost.  These  arrangements  have  formed  the 
noblest  buildings  in  the  world.  Yet  it  is  worth  observing'^ 
how  perfect  in  its  simplicity  the  single  entrance  may  become, 
when  it  is  treated  as  in  the  Duomo  and  St.  Zeno  of  Yerona, 
and  other  such  early  Lombard  churches,  having  noble  porches, 
and  rich  sculptures  grouped  around  the  entrance. 

§  VII.  However,  whether  the  entrances  be  single,  triple,  or 
manifold,  it  is  a  constant  law  that  one  shall  be  principal,  and 
all  shall  be  of  size  in  some  degree  proportioned  to  that  of 
the  building.  And  this  size  is,  of  course,  chiefly  to  be  ex¬ 
pressed  in  width,  that  being  tlie  only  useful  dimension  in  a 
door  (except  for  pageantry,  chairing  of  bishops  and  waving  of 
banners,  and  other  such  vanities,  not,  I  hope,  after  this  cem 
tiiry,  much  to  be  regarded  in  the  building  of  Christian  temples) ; 


*  And  worth  questioning,  also,  whether  the  triple  porch  has  not  been 
associated  with  Romanist  views  of  mediatorship  ;  the  Redeemer  being 
represented  as  presiding  over  the  central  door  only,  and  the  lateral  entrances 
being  under  the  protection  of  saints,  while  the  Madonna  almost  always  has 
one  or  both  of  the  transepts.  But  it  would  be  wrong  to  press  this,  for,  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  architect  has  been  merely  influenced  in  his  placing 
of  the  statues  by  an  artist’s  desire  of  variety  in  their  forms  and  dress;  and 
very  naturally  prefers  putting  a  canonisation  over  one  door,  a  martyrdom 
over  another,  and  an  assumption  over  a  third,  to  repeating  a  crucifixion  or 
a  judgment  above  all.  The  architect’s  doctrine  is  only,  therefore,  to  be 
noted  with  indisputable  reprobation  when  the  Madonna  gets  possession  of 
the  main  door. 


178 


XVI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


but  tliougli  the  width  is  the  only  necessary  dimension,  it  is  well 
to  increase  the  height  also  in  some  proportion  to  it,  in  order 
that  there  may  he  less  wmiglit  of  wall  above,  resting  on  the 
increased  span  of  the  arch.  This  is,  however,  so  much  the 
necessary  result  of  the  broad  curve  of  the  arch  itself,  that  there 
is  no  structural  necessity  of  elevating  the  jamb  ;  and  I  believe 
that  beautiful  entrances  anight  be  made  of  every  span  of  arch, 
retaining  the  jamb  at  a  little  more  than  a  man’s  height,  until 
the  sweep  of  the  curves  became  so  vast  that  the  small  verti-cal 
line  became  a  part  of  them,  and  one  entered  into  the  temple  as 
under  a  great  rainbow. 

§  VIII.  On  the  other  hand,  the  jamb  may  be  elevated  indef-  ^ 
initely,  so  that  the  increasing  entrance  retains  at  least  the 
proportion  of  width  it  had  originally ;  say  4  ft.  by  7  ft.  5  in. 
But  a  less  proportion  of  wudth  than  this  lias  always  a  meagre, 
inhospitable,  and  ungainly  look  excejit  in  military  architecture, 
where  the  narrowness  of  the  entrance  is  necessary,  and  its 
height  adds  to  its  grandeur,  as  between  the  entrance  towers 
of  our  British  castles.  This  law  however,  observe,  applies 
only  to  true  doors,  not  to  the  arches  of  iiorches,  which  may  be 
of  any  proportion,  as  of  any  number,  being  in  fact  interco- 
lumniations,  not  doors ;  as  in  the  noble  example  of  the  west 
front  of  Peterborough,  which,  in  spite  of  the  destructive 
absurdity  of  its  central  arch  being  the  narrowest,  would  still, 
if  the  paltry  porter’s  lodge,  or  gatehouse,  or  turnpike,  or  what¬ 
ever  it  is,  were  knocked  out  of  the  middle  of  it,  be  the  noblest 
Avest  front  in  England. 

§  IX.  Further,  and  finally.  In  proportion  to  the  height  and 
size  of  the  building,  and  therefore  to  the  size  of  its  doors,  Avill 
be  the  thickness  of  its  walls,  especially  at  the  foundation,  that 
is  to  say,  beside  the  doors  ;  and  also  in  proportion  to  the 
numbers  of  a  crowd  Avill  be  the  unruliness  and  pressure  of  it. 
Hence,  jiartly  in  necessity  and  partly  in  prudence,  the  splay¬ 
ing  or  chamfering  of  the  jamb  of  the  larger  door  Avill  be 
deepened,  and,  if  possible,  made  at  a  larger  angle  for  the  large 
door  than  for  the  small  one ;  so  that  the  large  door  Avill  always 
be  enconijiassed  by  a  visible  breadth  of  jamb  proportioned  to 


CONSTTirCTION. 


XYI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


1T9 


its  own  magnitude.  Tlie  decorative  value  of  tins  feature  we 
shall  see  liereafter. 

§  X.  The  second  kind  of  apertures  we  have  to  examine 
are  those  of  windows. 

Window  apertures  are  mainly  of  two  kinds  ;  those  for  out¬ 
look,  and  those  for  inlet  of  light,  many  being  for  both  pur¬ 
poses,  and  either  purpose,  or  both,  combined  in  military  archi¬ 
tecture  with  those  of  otfence  and  defence.  But  all  window 
ajjertures,  as  compared  with  door  apertures,  have  almost  infinite 
licence  of  form  and  size  :  they  may  be  of  any  shape,  from  the 
slit  or  cross  slit  to  the  circle  ;*  of  any  size,  from  the  loophole 
of  the  castle  to  the  pillars  of  light  of  the  cathedral  apse.  Yet, 
accoi’ding  to  their  place  and  purpose,  one  or  two  laws  of  fit¬ 
ness  hold  respecting  them,  which  let  us  examine  in  the  two 
classes  of  windows  successivelv,  but  without  reference  to  niili- 
tary  architecture,  which  here,  as  before,  we  may  dismiss  as  a 
subject  of  separate  science,  only  noticing  that  windows,  like 
all  other  features,  are  always  delightful,  if  not  beautiful,  when 
their  position  and  shape  have  indeed  been  thus  necessarily 
determined,  and  that  many  of  their  most  picturesque  forms 
have  resulted  from  the  requirements  of  war.  We  should  also 
find  in  military  architecture  the  typical  forms  of  the  two 
classes  of  outlet  and  inlet  windows  in  their  utmost  develop¬ 
ment  ;  the  greatest  sweep  of  sight  and  range  of  shot  on  tlie 
one  hand,  and  the  fullest  entry  of  light  and  air  on  the  other, 
being  constantly  required  at  the  smallest  possible  apertures. 
Our  business,  however,  is  to  reason  out  the  laws  for  ourselves, 
not  to  take  the  examples  as  we  find  them. 

§  XI.  1.  Outlook  ajiertnres.  For  these  no  general  outline 
is  determinable  by  the  necessities  or  inconveniences  of  outlook- 
ing,  except  only  that  the  bottom  or  sill  of  the  windows,  at 
whatever  height,  should  be  horizontal,  for  the  convenience  of 


*  The  arch  heading  is  indeed  the  best  where  tliere  is  much  incumbent 
weight,  but  a  window  frequently  has  very  little  weight  above  it,  especially 
when  placed  high,  and  the  arched  form  loses  light  in  a  low  room  :  there¬ 
fore  the  square-headed  window  is  admissible  where  the  square-headed  door 
is  not. 


180 


5VL  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


leaning  on  it,  or  standing  on  it  if  the  window  he  to  the  ground. 
The  form  of  the  upper  part  of  the  window  is  quite  immaterial, 
for  all  windows  allow  a  greater  range  of  sight  when  they  ai’e 
approached  than  that  of  the  eye  itself  :  it  is  the  approachahility 
of  the  window,  that  is  to  say,  the  annihilation  of  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  which  is  the  real  point  to  be  attended  to.  If, 
therefore,  the  aperture  be  inaccessible,  or  so  small  that  the 
thickness  of  the  wall  cannot  be  entered,  the  wall  is  to  be 
bevelled*  on  the  outside,  so  as  to  increase  the  range  of  sight  as 
far  as  possible ;  if  the  aperture  can  be  entered,  then  bevelled 
from  the  point  to  which  entrance  is  possible.  The  bevelling 
wdll,  if  possible,  be  in  every  direction,  that  is  to  say,  upwards 
at  the  top,  outwards  at  the  sides,  and  downwards  at  the  bottom, 
but  essentially  downwards  /  the  earth  and  the  doings  upon  it 
being  the  chief  object  in  outlook  windows,  except  of  observa¬ 
tories  ;  and  where  the  object  is  a  distinct  and  special  view 
downwards,  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  shelter  the  -eye  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  rays  of  light  coming  from  above,  and  the 
head  of  the  window  may  be  left  horizontal,  or  even  the  whole 
aperture  sloped  outwards,  as  the  slit  in  a  letter-box  is  inwards. 

The  best  windows  for  outlook  are,  of  course,  oriels  and  bow 
windows,  but  these  are  not  to  be  considered  under  the  head 
of  apertures  merely ;  they  are  either  balconies  roofed  and 
glazed,  and  to  be  considered  under  the  head  of  external  appli¬ 
ances,  or  they  are  each  a  story  of  an  external  semi-tower, 
having  true  aperture  windows  on  each  side  of  it. 

XII.  2.  Inlet  windows.  These  windows  may,  o'f  course,  be 
of  any  shape  and  size  whatever,  according  to  the  other  neces¬ 
sities  of  the  building,  and  the  quantity  and  direction  of  light 
desired,  their  purpose  being  now  to  throw  it  in  streams  on> 
particular  lines  or  spots  ;  now  to  diffuse  it  everywhere  ;  some¬ 
times  to  introduce  it  in  broad  masses,  tempered  in  strength,  as 
in  the  cathedral  colored  window ;  sometimes  in  starry  showers 
of  scattered  brilliancy,  like  the  apertures  in  the  roof  of  an 

*I  do  not  like  the  sound  of  the -word  “splayed;”  I  always  shall  use 
“bevelled”  instead. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XVI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


181 


Arabian  bath  ;  perhaps  tlie  most  beautiful  of  all  forms  being 
the  rose,  'wliicli  has  in  it  the  unity  of  both  cliaracters,  and 
sympathy  with  that  of  the  source  of  light  itself.  It  is  notice¬ 
able,  however,  that  while  both  the  circle  and  pointed  oval  are 
beautiful  window  forms,  it  would  be  verv  pain- 

’  .  -  Fig.  NT. TV 

fill  to  cut  either  of  them  in  half  and  connect 
them  by  vertical  lines,  as  in  Fig.  XLIV.  The 
reason  is,  I  believe,  that  so  treated,  the  upper 
arch  is  not  considered  as  connected  with  the 
lower,  and  forming  an  entire  figure,  but  as  the  ordinary  arcli 
roof  of  the  aperture,  and  the  lower  arch  as  an  arch  floor ^ 
equally  unnecessary  and  unnatural.  Also,  the  elliptical  oval  is 
generally  an  unsatisfactory  form,  because  it  gives  the  idea  of 
useless  trouble  in  building  it,  though  it  occurs  quaintly  and 
pleasantly  in  the  former  windows  of  France:  I  believe  it  is  also 
objectionable  because  it  has  an  indeterminate,  slippery  look, 
like  that  of  a  bubble  rising  through  a  fluid.  It,  and  all  elongated 
forms,  are  still  more  objectionable  placed  horizontally,  because 
this  is  the  weakest  position  they  can  structurally  have  ;  that  is 
to  say,  less  light  is  admitted,  with  greater  loss  of  strength  to 
the  building,  than  by  any  other  form.  If  admissible  any¬ 
where,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  variety  at  the  top  of  the  building, 
as  the  flat  parallelogram  sometimes  not  ungracefully  in  Italian 
Renaissance. 

§  xiiT.  The  question  of  bevelling  becomes  a  little  more 
complicated  in  the  inlet  than  the  outlook  window,  because 
the  mass  or  quantity  of  light  admitted  is  often  of  more  conse¬ 
quence  than  its  direction,  and  often  vice  versa’  and  the  out¬ 
look  window  is  supposed  to  be  approachable,  which  is  far 
from  being  always  the  case  with  windows  for  light,  so  that 
the  bevelling  which  in  the  outlook  window  is  chiefly  to  open 
range  of  sight,  is  in  the  inlet  a  means  not  only  of  admitting 
the  light  in  greater  quantity,  but  of  directing  it  to  the  spot 
on  which  it  is  to  fall.  But,  in  general,  the  bevelling  of  the 
one  window  will  reverse  that  of  the  other ;  for,  first,  no 
natural  light  will  strike  on  the  inlet  window  from  beneath, 
unless  reflected  light,  which  is  (I  believe)  injurious  to  the 


A 

V 


182 


XVI.  FORM  OF  APERTURE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


licaltli  and  the  siglit;  and  thus,  while  in  the  outlook  window 
the  outside  bevel  downwards  is  essential,  in  the  inlet  it  would 
be  useless :  and  the  sill  is  to  be  flat,  if  the  window  be  on  a 
level  with  the  spot  it  is  to  light;  and  sloped  downwards 
within,  if  above  it.  Again,  as  the  brightest  rays  of  light  are 
the  steepest,  the  outside  bevel  upwards  is  as  essential  in  the 
roof  of  the  inlet  as  it  was  of  small  iiii])ortance  in  that  of  the 
outlook  window. 

§  XIV.  On  the  horizontal  section  the  aperture  will  expand 
internally,  a  somewhat  larger  number  of  rays  being  thus 
reflected  from  the  jambs ;  and  the  aperture  being  thus  the 
smallest  possible  outside,  this  is  the  favorite  military  form  of 
inlet  window,  always  found  in  magnificent  development  in 
the  thick  walls  of  mediaeval  castles  and  convents.  Its  effect 
is  tranquil,  but  cheerless  and  dungeon-like  in  its  fullest  develop¬ 
ment,  owing  to  the  limitation  of  the  range  of  sight  in  the 
outlook,  which,  if  the  window  be  unapproachable,  reduces  it 
to  a  mere  point  of  light.  A  modified  condition  of  it,  with 
some  combination  of  the  outlook  form,  is  probably  the  best 
for  domestic  buildings  in  general  (which,  however,  in  modern 
architecture,  are  unhappily  so  thin  walled,  that  the  outline  of 
the  jambs  becomes  a  matter  almost  of  indifference),  it  being 
generally  noficeable  that  the  depth  of  recess  which  I  have 
observed  to  be  essential  to  nobility  of  external  effect  has  also 
a  certain  dignity  of  expression,  as  appearing  to  be  intended 
rather  to  admit  light  to  persons  quietly  occupied  in  their 
homes,  than  to  stimulate  or  favor  the  curiosity  of  idleness. 


CHAPTEE  XYII. 


FILLING  OF  APEBTUEE. 

§  I.  Thus  far  we  have  been  concerned  with  the  outline  only 
of  the  aperture ;  we  were  next,  it  will  he  reiiieinhered,  to 
consider  the  necessary  modes  of  filling  it  with  valves  in  the 
case  of  the  door,  or  with  glass  or  tracery  in  that  of  the 
window. 

1.  Fillings  of  doors.  We  concluded,  in  the  previous  Chap¬ 
ter,  tliat  doors  in  buildings  of  any  importance  or  size  should 
have  headings  in  the  form  of  an  arch.  This  is,  however,  the 
most  inconvenient  form  we  could  choose,  as  respects  the  fitting 
of  the  valves  of  the  doorway  ;  for  the  arch-shaped  head  of  the 
valves  not  only  requires  considerable  nicety  in  fitting  to  the 
arch,  'but  adds  largely  to  the  weight  of  the  door, — a  double  dis¬ 
advantage,  straining  the  hinges  and  making  it  cumbersome  in 
opening.  And  this  inconvenience  is  so  much  perceived  by  the 
eye,  that  a  door  valve  with  a  pointed  head  is  always  a  dis¬ 
agreeable  object.  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  matter  of  true 
necessity  so  to  arrange  the  doorway  as  to  admit  of  its  being 
fitted  with  rectangular  valves. 

§  II.  Xow,  in  determining  the  form  of  the  aperture,  we 
supposed  the  jamb  of  the  door  to  be  of  the  utmost  height  re¬ 
quired  for  entrance.  The  extra  height  of  the  arch  is  unneces¬ 
sary  as  an  opening,  the  arch  being  required  for  its  strength 
only,  not  for  its  elevation.  There  is,  therefore,  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  barred  across  by  a  horizontal  lintel,  into  which 
the  valves  may  be  fitted,  and  the  triangular  or  semicircular 
arched  space  above  the  lintel  may  then  be  permanently  closed, 
as  we  choose,  either  with  bars,  or  glass,  or  stone. 

This  is  the  form  of  all  good  doors,  without  exception. 


^184 


XYII.  FILLING  OF  APERTUEE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


over  tlie  whole  world  and  in  all  ages,  and  no  other  can  ever 
be  invented. 

§  III.  In  the  simplest  doors  the  cross  lintel  is  of  wood  only, 
and  glass  or  bars  occupy  the  sjiace  above,  a  vCTy  frequent  form 
in  Yenice.  In  more  elaborate  doors  tlie  cross  lintel  is  of 
stone,  and  the  filling  sometimes  of  brick,  sometimes  of  stone, 
^  ery  often  a  grand  single  stone  being  used  to  close  the  entire 
space .  the  space  thus  filled  is  called  the  Tympanum.  In 
laige  doois  the  cross  lintel  is  too  long  to  bear  the  great  incum¬ 
bent  weight  of  this  stone  filling  without  supjiort ;  it  is,  there¬ 
fore,  carried  by  a  pier  in  the  centre ;  and  two  valves  are  used, 
fitted  to  the  rectangular  spaces  on  each  side  of  the  pier.  In 
the  most  elaborate  examples  of  this  condition,  each  of  these 
secondary  doorways  has  an  arch  heading,  a  cross  lintel,  and  a 
triangular  filling  or  tympanum  of  its  own,  all  subordinated  to 
the  main  arch  above. 

§  IV.  2.  Fillings  of  windows. 

When  windows  are  large,  and  to  be  filled  with  glass,  the 
sheet  of  glass,  however  constructed,  whether  of  large  panes  or 
small  fiagments,  requires  the  support  of  bars  of  some  kind, 
either  of  wood,  metal,  or  stone.  Wood  is  inapplicable  on  a 
large  scale,  owing  to  its  destructibility ;  very  fit  for  door- 
valves,  which  can  be  easily  refitted,  and  in  which  weight 
would  be  an  inconvenience,  but  very  unfit  for  window-bars, 
which,  if  they  decayed,  might  let  the  whole  window  be  blown 
in  before  their  decay  was  observed,  and  in  wdiich  weight 

would  be  an  advantage,  as  offering  more  resistance  to  the 
wind. 

Iron  is,  however,  fit  for  window-bars,  and  there  seems  no 
eonstructive  reason  wdiy  we  should  not  have  iron  traceries,  as 
well  as  iron  ])illars,  iron  churches,  and  iron  steeples.  But  I 
have,  m  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  given  reasons  for  not  consider¬ 
ing  such  structures  as  architecture  at  all. 

The  window-bars  must,  therefore,  be  of  stone,  and  of  stone 
only. 

§1^.^  The  purpose  of  the  window  being  always  to  let  in  as 
much  light,  and  command  as  much  view,  as  possible,  tlieso 


COKSTRUCTIOIf. 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APERTUEE. 


185 


Fig.  XLV. 


W 


a 


-o — O — O - 1 


/&■ 


-o 

9 


bars  of  stone  are  to  be  made  as  slender  and  as  few  as  they  can 
be,  consistently  with  their  due  strength. 

Let  it  be  required  to  support  the  breadth  of  glass,  a,  h,  Fig. 
XLY.  The  tendency  of  the 
glass  sustaining  any  force,  as 
of  wind  from  without,  is  to 
bend  into  an  arch  inwards,  in 
the  dotted  line,  and  break  in 
the  centre.  It  is  to  be  sup¬ 
ported,  tlierefore,  by  the  bar 
put  in  its  centre,  c. 

But  this  central  bar,  c,  may 
not  be  enough,  and  the  spaces 
a  c,  c  h,  may  still  need  sup¬ 
port.  The  next  step  will  be 
to  put  two  bars  instead  of 
one,  and  divide  the  window  into  three  spaces  as  at  cl. 

But  this  may  still  not  be  enough,  and  the  window  may  need 
three  bars.  Now  the  greatest  stress  is  always  on  the  centre 
of  the  window.  If  the  three  bars  are  equal  in  strength,  as  at 
e,  the  central  bar  is  either  too  slight  for  its  work,  or  the  lateral 
bars  too  thick  for  theirs.  Therefore,  we  must  slightly  increase 
the  thickness  of  the  central  bar,  and  diminish  that  of  the 
lateral  ones,  so  as  to  obtain  the  arrangement  at  f  h.  If  the 
window  enlarge  farther,  each  of  the  spaces  f  g,  y  is  treated 
as  the  original  space  a  h,  and  we  have  the  groups  of  bars  k 
and  1. 


-o — o- 


So  that,  whatever  the  shape  of  the  window,  whatever  the 
direction  and  number  of  the  bars,  there  are  to  be  central  or 
main  bars ;  second  bars  subordinated  to  them  ;  third  bars  sub¬ 
ordinated  to  the  second,  and  so  on  to  the  number  required.  ‘ 
This  is  called  the  subordination  of  tracery,  a  system  delightful 
to  the  eye  and  mind,  owing  to  its  anatomical  framing  and 
unity,  and  to  its  expression  of  the  laws  of  good  government  in 
all  fragile  and  unstable  things.  All  tracery,  therefore,  which 
is  not  subordinated,  is  barbarous,  in  so  far  as  this  part  of  its 
structure  is  concerned. 


i86 


XVII.  PILLING  OF  APEKTURK 


CONSTRUCTION. 


§  VI.  The  next  question  will  be  the  direction  of  the  bars. 
The  reader  will  understand  at  once,  without  any  laborious 
proof,  that  a  given  area  of  glass,  supported  by  its  edges,  is 
stronger  in  its  resistance  to  violence  when  it  is  arranged  in  a 
long  strip  or  band  than  in  a  square ;  and  that,  therefore,  glass 
is  generally  to  be  arranged,  esiiecially  in  windows  on  a  large 
scale,  in  oblong  areas :  and  if  the  bars  so  dividing  it  be  placed 
horizontally,  they  will  have  less  power  of  supporting  them¬ 
selves,  and  will  need  to  be  thicker  in  consequence,  than  if 
placed  vertically.  As  far,  therefore,  as  the  form  of  the  window 
permits,  they  are  to  be  vertical. 

§  VII.  But  even  when  so  placed,  they  cannot  be  trusted  to 
support  themselves  beyond  a  certain  height,  but  will  need  cross 
bars  to  steady  them.  Cross  bars  of  stone  are,  therefore,  to  be 
introduced  at  necessary  intervals,  not  to  divide  the  glass,  but 
to  support  the  upright  stone  bars.  The  glass  is  always  to  be 
divided  longitudinally  as  far  as  possible,  and  the  upright  bars 
which  divide  it  supported  at  proper  intervals.  However  high 
the  window,  it  is  almost  impossible  that  it  should  require  more 
than  two  cross  bars. 

§  viii.  It  may  sometimes  happen  that  when  tall  windows 
are  placed  very  close  to  each  other  for  the  sake  of  more  light, 
the  masonry  between  them  may  stand  in  need,  or  at  least  be  the 
better  of,  some  additional  support.  The  cross  bars  of  the  win- . 
dows  may  then  be  thickened,  in  order  to  bond  the  intermediate 
piers  more  strongly  together,  and  if  this  thickness  appear  un¬ 
gainly,  it  may  be  modified  by  decoration. 

§  IX.  We  have  thus  arrived  at  the  idea  of  a  vertical  frame 
work  of  subordinated  bars,  supported  by  cross  bars  at  the 
necessary  intervals,  and  the  only  remaining  question  is  the 
method  of  insertion  into  the  aperture.  Whatever  its  form,  if 
we  merely  let  the  ends  of  the  bars  into  the  voussoirs  of  its 
heading,  the  least  settlement  of  the  masonry  would  distort  the 
arch,  or  push  up  some  of  its  voussoirs,  or  break  the  window 
bars,  or  push  them  aside.  Evidently  our  object  should  be  to 
connect  the  window  bars  among  themselves,  so  framing  them 
together  that  they  may  give  the  utmost  possible  degree  of  sup' 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APERTUEE. 


187 


port  to  the  whole  window  head  in  case  of  any  settlement.  But 
we  know  how  to  do  this  already  :  our  window  bars  are  nothing 
but  small  shafts.  Capital  them  ;  throw  small  arches  across  be¬ 
tween  the  smaller  bars,  large  arches  over  them  between  the 
larger  bars,  one  comprehensive  arch  over  the  whole,  or  else  a 
horizontal  lintel,  if  the  window  have  a  flat  head  ;  and  we  have 
a  complete  system  of  mutual  support,  independent  of  the 
aperture  head,  and  yet  assisting  to  sustain  it,  if  need  be.  But 
we  want  the  spandrils  of  this  arch  system  to  be  themselves  as 
light,  and  to  let  as  much  light  through  them,  as  possible  :  and 
we  know  already  how  to  pierce  them  (Chap.  XII.  §  vii.).  We 
pierce  them  witli  circles  ;  and  we  have,  if  the  circles  are  small 
and  the  stonework  strong,  the  traceries  of  Giotto  and  the 
Bisan  school  ^  if  the  circles  are  as  large  as  possible  and  the  bais 
slender,  those  which  I  have  already  figured  and  described  as 
the  only  perfect  traceries  of  the  Xorthern  Gothic.*  The 
varieties  of  their  design  arise  partly  from  the  different  size  of 
window  and  consequent  number  of  bars  ;  partly  from  the 
different  heights  of  their  pointed  arches,  as  well  as  the  various 
positions  of  the  window  head  in  relation  to  the  roof,  rendering 
one  or  another  arrangement  better  for  dividing  the  light,  and 
partly  from  aesthetic  and  expressional  requirements,  which, 
within  certain  limits,  may  be  allowed  a  very  important  in¬ 
fluence  :  for  the  strength  of  the  bars  is  ordinarily  so  much 
greater  than  is  absolutely  necessary,  that  some  portion  of  it 
may  be  gracefully  sacrificed  to  the  attainment  of  variety  in  the 
plans  of  tracery — a  variety  which,  even  within  its  severest 
limits,  is  perfectly  endless ;  more  especially  in  the  pointed 
arch,  the  proportion  of  the  tracery  being  in  the  round  arch 
necessarily  more  fixed. 

§  X.  The  circular  window  furnishes  an  exception  to  the 
common  law,  that  the  bars  shall  be  vertical  through  the 
greater  part  of  their  length  :  for  if  they  were  so,  they  could 
neither  have  secure  perpendicular  footing,  nor  secure  heading, 
their  thrust  being  perpendicular  to  the  curve  of  the  voussoiis 


*  “  Seven  Lamps,”  p.  53. 


188 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


CONSTRUCTION 


only  in  the  centre  of  the  window ;  therefore,  a  small  circle, 
like  the  axle  of  a  wheel,  is  put  into  the  centre  of  the  window, 
large  enough  to  give  footing  to  the  necessary  number  of 
radiating  bars ;  and  the  bars  are  arranged  as  spokes,  being  all 
of  course  properly  capitaled  and  arch-headed.  This  is  the  best 
form  of  tracery  for  circular  windows,  naturally  enough  called 
wheel  windows  when  so  tilled. 

§  XI.  ISTow,  I  wish  the  reader  especially  to  observe  that  we 
have  arrived  at  these  forms  of  perfect  Gothic  tracery  without 
the  smallest  reference  to  any  practice  of  any  school,  or  to  any 
law  of  authority  whatever.  Tliey  are  forms  having  essentially 
nothing  whatever  to  do  either  with  Goths  or  Greeks.  They 
are  eternal  forms,  based  on  laws  of  gravity  and  cohesion  ;  and 
no  better,  nor  any  others  so  good,  will  ever  he  invented,  so 
long  as  the  present  laws  of  gravity  and  cohesion  subsist. 

§  XII.  It  does  not  at  all  follow  that  this  group  of  forms 
owes  its  origin  to  any  such  com-se  of  reasoning  as  that  which 
has  now  led  us  to  it.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  not  the 
smallest  doubt  that  tracery  began,  partly,  in  the  grouping  of 
windows  together  (subsequently  enclosed  within  a  large  arch*), 
and  partly  in  the  fantastic  penetrations  of  a  single  slab  of 
stones  under  the  arch,  as  the  circle  in  Plate  Y.  above.  The 
perfect  form  seems  to  have  been  accidentally  struck  in  passing 
from  experiment  on  the  one  side,  to  affectation  on  the  other  ; 
and  it  was  so  far  from  ever  becoming  systematised,  that  I  am 
aware  of  no  type  of  tracery  for  which  a  less  decided  preference 
is  shown  in  the  buildings  in  which  it  exists.  The  early  pierced 
traceries  are  multitudinous  and  perfect  in  their  kind, — the  late 
Flamboyant,  luxuriant  in  detail,  and  lavish  in  quantity, — hut 
the  perfect  forms  exist  in  comparatively  few  churches,  gener- 
ally  in  portions  of  the  church  only,  and  are  always  connected, 
and  that  closely,  either  with  the  massy  forms  out  of  which 

*  On  tlie  north  side  of  the  nave  of  the  cathedral  of  Lyons,  there  is  an 
early  French  window,  presenting  one  of  the  usual  groups  of  foliated  arches 
and  circles,  left,  as  it  -were,  loose,  without  any  enclosing  curve.  The  effect 
is  very  painful.  This  remarkable  window  is  associated  with  others  of  the 
common  form. 


CONSTEUCTION. 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


189 


tlifij  have  emerged,  or  with  the  enervated  types  into  vzhich 
they  are  instantly  to  degenerate. 

§  XIII.  ISTor’  indeed  are  we  to  look  upon  them  as  in  all 
points  superior  to  the  more  ancient  examples.  We  have  above 
conducted  our  reasoning  entirely  on  the  supposition  that  a 
single  aperture  is  given,  which  it  is  the  object  to  fill  with 
glass,  diminishing  the  power  of  the  light  as  little  as  possible. 
But  there  are  many  cases,  as  in  triforium  and  cloister  lights,  in 
w'hich  glazing  is  not  required  |  in  which,  therefore,  the  bars, 
if  there  be  any,  must  have  some  more  important  function  than 
that  of  merely  holding  glass,  and  in  which  their  actual  use  is 
to  give  steadiness  and  tone,  as  it  were,  to  the  arches  and  walls 
above  and  beside  them ;  or  to  give  the  idea  of  protection  to 
those  who  pass  along  the  triforium,  and  of  seclusion  to  those 
who  walk  in  the  cloister.  Much  thicker  shafts,  and  more 
massy  arches,  may  be  properly  employed  in  work  of  this  kind  ; 
and  many  groups  of  such  tracery  will  be  found  resolvable  into 
true  colonnades,  with  the  arches  in  pairs,  or  in  triple  or  quad¬ 
ruple  groups,  and  with  small  rosettes  pierced  above  them  for 
light.  All  this  is  just  as  right  in  its  place,  as  the  glass  tracery 
is  in  its  own  function,  and  often  much  more  grand.  But  the 
same  indulgence  is  not  to  be  shown  to  the  affectations  which 
succeeded  the  developed  forms.  Of  these  there  are  three 
principal  conditions  :  the  Flamboyant  of  France,  the  Stump 
tracery  of  Germany,  and  the  Perpendicular  of  England. 

g  XIV.  Of  these  the  first  arose,  by  the  most  delicate  and 
natural  transitions,  out  of  the  perfect  school.  It  was  an  en¬ 
deavor  to  introduce  more  grace  into  its  lines,  and  more  change 
into  its  combinations  |  and  the  aesthetic  results  are  so  beautiful, 
that  for  some  time  after  the  right  road  had  been  left,  the  aber- 
'ration  was  more  to  be  admired  than  regretted.  The  final  con¬ 
ditions  became  fantastic  and  effeminate,  but,  in  the  country 
where  they  had  been  invented,  never  lost  their  peculiar  grace 
until  they  were  replaced  by  the  Benaissance.  The  copies  of 
the  school  in  England  and  Italy  have  all  its  faults  and  none 
of  its  beauties  ;  in  France,  whatever  it  lost  in  method  or 
in  majesty,  it  gained  in  fantasy :  hterally  Flamboyant,  it 


190 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APERTURE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


breatlied  away  its  streiigtli  into  tlie  air  ;  but  tliere  is  not  more 
difference  between  the  commonest  doggrel  tliat  ever  broke 
prose  into  unintelligibility,  and  the  burning  mystery  of  Cole¬ 
ridge,  or  spirituality  of  Elizabeth  Barrett,  than  there  is  be¬ 
tween  the  dissolute  dulness  of  English  Elamboyant,  and  the 
flaming  undulations  of  the  wreathed  lines  of  delicate  stone,  that 
confuse  themselves  with  the  clouds  of  every  morning  sky  that 
brightens  above  the  valley  of  the  Seine. 

§  XV.  The  second  group  of  traceries,  the  intersectional  or 
German  grouji,  may  be  considered  as  including  the  entire 
range  of  the  absurd  forms  which  were  invented  in  order  to  dis¬ 
play  dexterity  in  stone-cutting  and  ingenuity  in  construction. 
They  express  the  peculiar  character  of  the  German  mind, 

.  wliich  cuts  the  frame  of  every  truth  joint  from  joint,  in  order 
to  prove  the  edge  of  its  instruments ;  and,  in  all  cases,  prefers 
a  new  or  a  strange  thought  to  a  good  one,  and  a  subtle 
thouglit  to  a  useful  one.  The  point  and  value  of  the 
German  tracery  consists  principally  in  turning  the  features 
of  good  traceries  upside  dov/n,  and  cutting  them  in  two 
where  they  are  properly  continuous.  To  destroy  at  once  foun¬ 
dation  and  membership,  and  suspend  everything  in  the  air, 
keeping  out  of  sight,  as  far  as  possible,  the  evidences  of  a  begin¬ 
ning  and  the  probabilities  of  an  end,  are  the  main  objects  of 
German  architecture,  as  of  modern  German  divinity. 

§  XVI.  This  school  has,  however,  at  least  the  merit  of  in¬ 
genuity.  hs^ot  so  the  English  Perpendicular,  though  a  very 
curious  school  also  in  its  way.  In  the  course  of  the  reasoning 
which  led  us  to  the  determination  of  the  perfect  Gothic  tracery, 
we  were  induced  successively  to  reject  certain  methods  of  ar¬ 
rangement  as  weak,  dangerous,  or  disagreeable.  Collect  all 
these  together,  and  practise  them  at  once,  and  you  ha\e  the 
English  Perpendicular. 

As  thus.  You  find,  in  the  first  place  (§  v.),  that  your  tra¬ 
cery  liars  are  to  be  subordinated,  less  to  greater ;  so  you  take 
a  group  of,  suppose,  eight,  which  you  make  all  exactly  ecpial, 
giving  you  nine  equal  snaces  in  the  window,  as  at  xl.  Fig. 
XL  VI.  Y  ou  found,  in  the  second  place  (§  vii.),  that  there  was' 


COJrSTRCCTION. 


XVII.  FILLIXG  OF  APEETUKE. 


191 


no  occasion  for  more  than  two  cross  bars ;  so  yon  take  at  least 
four  or  live  (also  represented  at  A,  Fig.  XLYI.),  also  carefully 
equalised,  and  set  at  equal  spaces.  You  found,  in  tlie  third 
place  (§  VIII.),  that  these  bars  were  to  be  strengthened,  in  order 
to  support  the  main  piers ;  you  Avill  therefore  cut  the  ends  off 
the  uppermost,  and  the  fourth  into  three  pieces  (as  also  at  A).  . 
In  the  fourth  place,  you  found  (§  ix.)  that  you  were  never  to 
run  a  vertical  bar  into  the  arch  head  ;  so  you  run  them  all  into 
it  (as  at  B,  Fig.  XLYI.) :  and  this  last  arrangement  will  be  use¬ 
ful  in  two  ways,  for  it  will  not  only  expose  both  the  bars  and  the 
archivolt  to  an  apparent  probability  of  every  species  of  disloca¬ 
tion  at  any  moment,  but  it  will  provide  you  with  two  pleasing 


Fig.  XLVI. 


interstices  at  the  flanks,  in  the  shape  of  carving-knives,  a, 
which,  by  throwing  across  the  curves  c,  you  may  easily 
multiply  into  four ;  and  these,  as  you  can  put  nothing  into 
their  sharp  tops,  will  afford  you  a  more  than  usually  rational 
excuse  for  a  little  bit  of  Germanism,  in  tilling  them  with 
arches  upside  down,  6,y.  F  ou  wnll  now  have  left  at  your  dis¬ 
posal  two  and  forty  similar  interstices,  which,  for  the  sake  of 
variety,  you  will  proceed  to  till  with  two  and  fortj^  similar 


192 


XYII.  FILLING  OF  APERTUKE. 


CONSTEUCTION. 


arclies  :  and,  as  you  were  told  that  the  moment  a  bar  received 
an  arch  heading,  it  was  to  be  treated  as  a  shaft  and  cajiitalled, 
you  will  take  care  to  give  your  bars  no  capitals  nor  bases,  but 
to  run  bars,  foliations  and  all,  well  into  each  other  after  the 
fashion  of  cast-iron,  as  at  C.  You  have  still  two  triangular 
spaces  occurring  in  an  important  part  of  your  window,  g  y, 
which,  as  they  are  very  conspicuous,  and  you  cannot  make 
them  uglier  than  they  are,  you  will  do  wisely  to  let  alone  ; — 
and  you  will  now  have  the  west  window  of  the  cathedral  of 
Winchester,  a  very  perfect  examjile  of  English  Perpendicular. 
Nor  do  I  think  that  you  can,  on  the  whole,  better  the  arrange¬ 
ment,  unless,  jierhaps,  by  adding  buttresses  to  some  of  the  bars, 
as  is  done  in  the  cathedral  at  Gloucester  ;  these  buttresses  hav¬ 
ing  the  double  advantage  of  darkening  the  window  when  seen 
from  within,  and  suggesting,  when  it  is  seen  from  without,  the 
idea  of  its  being  divided  by  two  stout  party  walls,  with  a 
heavy  thrust  against  the  glass. 

§  XVII.  Thus  far  we  have  considered  the  plan  of  the  tracery 
only  :  we  have  lastly  to  note  the  conditions  under  which  the 
glass  is  to  be  attached  to  the  bars  5  and  the  sections  of  the  bars 
themselves. 

These  bars  we  have  seen,  in  the  perfect  form,  are  to  become 
shafts ;  but,  supposing  the  object  to  be  the  admission  of  as 
much  light  as  possible,  it  is  clear  that  the  thickness  of  the  bar 
ought  to  be  chiefly  in  the  depth  of  the  window,  and  that  by 
increasing  the  depth  of  the  bar  we  may  diminish  its  breadth  : 
clearly,  therefoi'e,  we  should  employ  the  double  group  of 
shafts,  Z>,  of  Fig.  XIY.,  setting  it  edgeways  in  the  window  : 
but  as  the  glass  would  then  come  between  the  two  shafts,  we 
must  add  a  member  into  which  it  is  to  be  fitted,  as  at  «,  Fig. 

Fig.  xLvn.  XLVII.,  and  uniting  these  three  members 

♦  together  in  the  simplest  way,  with  a  curved 
instead  of^a  sharp  recess  behind  the  shafts, 
we  have  the  section  5,  the  perfect,  but  sim- 
^  plest  type  of  the  main  tracery  bars  in  good 
Gothic.  In  triforinm  and  cloister  tracery,  which  has  no  glass 
to  hold,  the  central  member  is  omitted,  and  we  have  either  the 


CONSTRrCTION. 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APEETUKE. 


193 


pure  double  shaft,  always  the  most  graceful,  or  a  single  and 
more  massy  shaft,  which  is  the  simpler  and  more  usual  form. 

§  xvin.  Finally  :  there  is  an  intermediate  arrangement  be¬ 
tween  the  glazed  and  the  open  tracery,  that  of  the  domestic 
traceries  of  Yenice.  Peculiar  conditions,  hereafter  to  be  de¬ 
scribed,  require  the  shafts  of  these  traceries  to  become  the 
main  vertical  supports  of  the  floors  and  walls.  Their  thick¬ 
ness  is  therefore  enormous  ;  and  yet  free  egress  is  required  be¬ 
tween  them  (into  balconies)  which  is  obtained  by  doors  in  their 
lattice  glazing.  To  prevent  the  inconvenience  and  ugliness 
of  driving  the  hinges  and  fastenings  of  them  into  the  shafts, 
and  having  the  play  of  the  doors  in  the  intervals,  the  entire 
glazing  is  thi-own  behind  the  pillars,  and  attached  to  their  abaci 
and  bases  with  iron.  It  is  thus  securely  sustained  by  their 
massy  bulk,  and  leaves  their  symmetry  and  shade  undis- 
tuihed. 

§  XIX.  The  depth  at  which  the  glass  should  be  placed,  in 
windows  without  traceries,  will  generally  be  fixed  by  the  forms 
of  their  bevelling,  the  glass  occupying  the  narrowest  interval ; 
but  when  its  position  is  not  thus  fixed,  as  in  many  London 
houses,  it  is  to  be  i-emembered  that  the  deeper  the  glass  is  set 
(the  wall  being  of  given  thickness),  the  more  light  will  enter, 
and  the  clearer  the  prospect  will  be  to  a  person  sitting  quietly 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  farther  out 
the  glass  is  set,  the  more  convenient  the  window  will  be  for  a 
person  rising  and  looking  out  of  it.  The  one,  therefore,  is  an 
arrangement  for  the  idle  and  curious,  who  care  only  about 
what  is  going  on  upon  the  earth ;  the  other  for  those  who  are 
willing  to  remain  at  rest,  so  that  they  have  free  admission  of 
the  light  of  Heaven.  This  might  be  noted  as  a  curious  ex¬ 
pression  al  reason  for  the  necessity  (of  which  no  man  of  ordi¬ 
nary  feeling  would  doubt  for  a  moment)  of  a  deep  recess  in 
the  window,  on  the  outside,  to  all  good  or  architectural  effect : 
still,  as  there  is  no  reason  why  people  should  be  made  idle  by 
having  it  in  their  power  to  look  out  of  windowq  and  as  the 
slight  increase  of  light  or  clearness  of  view  in  the  centre  of  a 
room  is  more  than  balanced  by  the  loss  of  space,  and  the 


194 


XVII.  FILLING  OF  APEKTURE. 


'  CONSTRUCTION. 


greater  cliill  of  the  nearer  glass  and  outside  air,  we  can,  I  fear, 
allege  no  other  structural  reason  for  the  picturesque  extei'nal 
recess,  than  the  expediency  of  a  certain  degree  of  protection, 
for  the  glass,  from  the  brightek  glare  of  sunshine,  and  heaviest 
rush  of  rain. 


CHAPTER  XYin. 


PROTECTION  OF  APERTURE. 

§  1.  We  liave  hitherto  considered  the  aperture  as  merely 
pierced  in  tlie  thickness  of  the  walls  ;  and  when  its  masonry 
is  simple  and  the  tillings  of  the  aperture  are  unimportant,  it 
may  well  remain  so.  But  when  the  tillings  are  delicate  and 
of  value,  as  in  the  case  of  colored  glass,  finely  wrought 
tracery,  or  sculpture,  such  as  we  shall  often  find  occupying 
the  tympanum  of  dooiways,  some  protection  becomes  neces¬ 
sary  against  the  run  of  the  rain  down  the  walls,  and  back  by 
the  bevel  of  the  aperture  to  the  joints  or  surface  of  the  fili- 
ings. 

§  II.  The  firet  and  simplest  mode  of  obtaining  this  is  by 
channelling  the  jambs  and  arch  head  ;  and  this  is  the  chief 
practical  service  of  aperture  mouldings,  which  are  otherwise 
entirely  decorative.  But  as  this  very  decorative  character 
renders  them  unfit  to  be  made  channels  for  rain  water,  it  is 
well  to  add  some  external  roofing  to  the  aperture,  which  may 
protect  it  from  the  run  of  all  the  rain,  except  that  which 
necessarily  beats  into  its  own  area.  This  protection,  in  its 
most  usual  form,  is  a  mere  dripstone  moulding  carried  over  or 
round  the  head  of  the  aperture.  But  this  is,  in  reality,  only  a 
contracted  form  of  a  true  roof^  projecting  from  the  wall  over 
the  aperture ;  and  all  protections  of  apertures  whatsoever  are 
to  be  conceived  as  portions  of  small  roofs,  attached  to  the  wall 
behind ;  and  supported  by  it,  so  long  as  their  scale  admits  of 
their  being  so  with  safety,  and  afterwards  in  such  manner 
as  may  be  most  expedient.  The  proper  forms  of  these, 
and  inodes  of  their  support,  are  to  be  the  subject  of  our  final 
enquiry. 


196 


XVIII.  PROTECTION  OF  APERTURE.  CONSTRUCTION. 


Fig.  XLVnL 


§  ni.  Respecting  their  proper  form  we  need  not  stay  long 
in  doubt.  A  deep  gable  is  evidently  the  best  for  throwing  oil 
rain  ;  even  a  low  gable  being  better  than  a  high  arch.  Flat 
roofs,  therefore,  may  only  be  used  when  the 
nature  of  the  building  rendei’s  the  gable 
unsightly  ;  as  when  there  is  not  room  for  it 
between  the  stories ;  or  when  the  object  is 
rather  shade  than  protection  from  rain,  as 
often  in  verandahs  and  balconies.  But  for 
general  service  the  gable  is  the  proper  and 
natural  form,  and  may  be  taken  as  repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  rest.  Then  this  gable  may 
either  project  unsupported  from  the  wall, 
Fig.  XLYIII.,  or  be  carried  by  brackets  or 
spurs,  &,  or  by  walls  or  shafts,  c,  which  shafts 
or  walls  may  themselves  be,  in  windows, 
carried  on  a  sill ;  and  this,  in  its  tura,  suj> 
ported  by  brackets  or  spurs.  W e  shall  glance 
at  the  applications  of  each  of  these  forms  in 
order. 

§  TV.  There  is  not  much  variety  in  the 
case  of  the  firet,  a,  Fig.  XLYIII.  In  the 
Cumberland  and  border  cottages  the  door  is 
generally  protected  by  two  pieces  of  slate 
arranged  in  a  gable,  giving  the  purest  possible  type  of  the  first 
form.  In  elaborate  architecture  such  a  projection  hardly  ever 
occurs,  and  in  large  architecture  cannot  with  safety  occur, 
without  brackets ;  but  by  cutting  away  the  greater  part  of  the 
projection,  we  shall  arrive  at  the  idea  of  a  plain  gabled  cor¬ 
nice,  of  which  a  perfect  example  will  be  found  in  Plate  YII. 
vof  the  folio  series.  With  this  first  complete  form  we  may 
associate  the  rude,  single,  projecting,  pent-house  roof  ;  im¬ 
perfect,  because  either  it  must  be  level  and  the  water 
lodge  lazily  upon  it,  or  throw  off  the  drip  upon  the  persons 
entering. 

§  V.  2.  h,  Fig.  XLYIII.  Tliis  is  a  most  beautiful  and 
natural  type,  and  is  found  in  all  good  architecture,  from  the 


CONSTKUCTION.  XYIII.  PKOTECTIOX  OF  APERTTJEE. 


197 


highest  to  the  most  humble :  it  is  a  frequent  form  of  cottage 
door,  more  especially  when  carried 
on  spurs,  being  of  peculiarly  easy 
construction  in  wood  :  as  applied 
to  large  architecture,  it  can  evi- 
viently  be  built,  in  its  boldest  and 
simplest  form,  either  of  wood  only, 
or  on  a  scale  which  will  admit  of 
its  sides  being  each  a  single  slab  of 
stone.  If  so  large  as  to  require 
jointed  masonry,  the  gabled  sides 
will  evidently  require  support,  and 
an  arch  must  be  thrown  across  un¬ 
der  them,  as  in  Fig.  XLIX.,  from 
Fiesole. 

If  we  cut  the  projection  gradually  down,  we  arrive  at  the 
common  Gothic  gable  dripstone  carried  on  small  brackets, 
carved  into  bosses,  heads,  or  some  other  ornamental  form  ;  the 
sub-arch  in  such  case  being  useless,  is  removed  or  coincides  with 
the  arch  head  of  the  aperture. 

§  VI.  3.  c,  Fig.  XLVIII.  Substituting  walls  or  pillars  for 
the  brackets,  we  may  carry  the  projection  as  far  out  as  we 
choose,  and  form  the  perfect  porch,  either  of  the  cottage  or 
village  church,  or  of  the  cathedral.  As  we  enlarge  the  struc¬ 
ture,  however,  certain  modifications  of  form  become  necessary, 
owing  to  the  increased  boldness  of  the  required  supporting 
arch.  For,  as  the  lower  end  of  the  gabled  roof  and  of  the 
arch  cannot  coincide,  we  have  necessarily  above  the  shafts  one 
of  the  two  forms  a  or  h,  in  Fig.  L.,  of  which  the  latter  is 
clearly  the  best,  requiring  less  masonry  and  shorter  roofing ; 
and  when  the  arch  becomes  so  large  as  to  cause  a  heavy  lateral 
thrust,  it  may  become  necessary  to  provide  for  its  farther  safe¬ 
ty  by  pinnacles,  c. 

This  last  is  the  perfect  type  of  aperture  protection.  Xone 
other  can  ever  be  invented  so  good.  It  is  that  once  employed 
by  Giotto  in  the  cathedral  of  Florence,  and  tom  down  by  the 
proveditore,  Ifenedetto  Uguccione,  to  erect  a  Renaissance  front 


Fig.  XLIX. 


198 


XVni.  PEOTECTIOX  OF  APERTUEE. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


instead  5  and  anotlier  sncli  lias  been  destroyed,  not  long  since, 
in  Yenice,  the  porch  of  the  church  of  St.  Apollinare,  also  to 
put  np  some  Kenaissance  upholstery  :  for  Renaissance,  as  if  it 
were  not  nuisance  enough  in  the  mere  fact  of  its  own  exist¬ 
ence,  appears  invariably  as  a  beast  of  prey,  and  founds  itself  on 
the  mill  of  all  that  is  best  and  noblest.  Many  such  porches, 
however,  happily  still  exist  in  Italy,  and  are  among  its  princi 
pal  glories. 


Fig.  L. 


§  \ii.  When  porches  of  this  kind,  carried  by  walls,  are 
placed  close  together,  as  in  cases  where  there  are  many  and 
large  entrances  to  a  cathedral  front,  they  would,  in  their  gen¬ 
eral  form,  leave  deep  and  uncomfortable  intervals,  in  which 
damp  would  lodge  and  grass  grow  ;  and  there  would  be  a  pain¬ 
ful  feeling  in  approaching  the  door  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd, 
as  if  some  of  them  might  miss  the  real  doors,  and  be  driven 
into  the  intervals,  and  embayed  there.  Clearly  it  will  be  a 
natural  and  right  expedient,  in  such  cases,  to  open  the  walls  of 
the  porch  wider,  so  that  they  may  correspond  in  slope,  or  near¬ 
ly  so,  with  the  bevel  of  the  doorway,  and  either  meet  each 
otlier  m  the  intervals,  or  have  the  said  intervals  closed  up  with 
an  intermediate  wall,  so  that  nobody  may  get  embaved  in 
them.  The  porches  will  thus  be  united,  and  form  one’^  range 
of  great  open  gulphs  or  caverns,  ready  to  receive  all  comere, 
and  direct  the  current  of  the  crowd  into  the  narrower  en¬ 
trances.  As  the  lateral  thrust  of  the  arches  is  now  met  by 
each  other,  the  pinnacles,  if  there  were  any,  must  be  removed, 
and  waterspouts  placed  between  each  arch  to  dischar£?c  the 
double  drainage  of  the  gables.  This  is  the  form  of  all  the 


CONSTRUCTION.  XVIII.  PROTECTION  OF  APERTURE. 


199 


noble  nortbern  porclies,  without  exception,  best  represented  b^ 
that  of  Kheims. 

§  VIII.  Contracted  conditions  of  the  pinnacle  porch  arc 
beautifully  used  in  the  doors  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence  ; 
and  the  entire  arrangement,  in  its  most  perfect  form,  as  adapted 
to  window  protection  and  decoration,  is  applied  by  Giotto  with 
■inconceivable  exquisiteness  in  the  windows  of  the  campanile  ; 
those  of  the  cathedral  itself  being  all  of  the  same  type. 
Various  singular  and  delightful  conditions  of  it  are  applied  in 
Italian  domestic  architecture  (in  the  Broletto  of  Monza  very 
quaintly),  being  associated  with  balconies  for  speaking  to  the 
people,  and  passing  into  pulpits.  In  the  north  we  glaze  the 
sides  of  such  projections,  and  they  become  bow-windows,  the 
shape  of  roofing  being  then  nearly  immaterial  and  very  fan¬ 
tastic,  often  a  conical  cap.  All  these  conditions  of  window 
protection,  being  for  real  service,  are  endlessly  delightful  (and 
I  believe  the  beauty  of  the  balcony,  protected  by  an  open 
canopy  supported  by  light  shafts,  never  yet  to  have  been 
projierly  worked  out).  But  the  Kenaissance  architects  de¬ 
stroyed  all  of  them,  and  introduced  the  magnificent  and  witty 
Homan  invention  of  a  model  of  a  Greek  pediment,  with  its 
cornices  of  monstrous  thickness,  bracketed  up  above  the  win¬ 
dow.  The  horizontal  cornice  of  the  pediment  is  thus  useless, 
and  of  course,  therefore,  retained ;  the  protection  to  the  head 
of  the  window  being  constructed  on  the  principle  of  a  hat  with 
its  crown  sewn  up.  But  the  deep  and  dark  triangular  cavity 
thus  obtained  affords  farther  opportunity  for  putting  ornament 
out  of  sight,  of  which  the  Kenaissance  architects  are  not  slow 
to  avail  themselves. 

A  more  rational  condition  is  the  complete  pediment  with  a 
couple  of  shafts,  or  pilasters,  carried  on  a  bracketed  sill ;  and 
the  windows  of  this  kind,  which  have  been  well  designed,  are 
perhaps  the  best  things  which  the  Kenaissance  schools  have 
produced :  those  of  Whitehall  are,  in  their  way,  exceedingly 
beautiful ;  and  those  of  the  Palazzo  Kicardi  at  Florence,  in 
their  simplicity  and  sublimity,  are  scarcely  unworthy  of  their 
reputed  designer,  Michael  Angelo. 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 


SUPERIMPOSITION. 

§  The  reador  lias  now  somo  knowledge  of  evei’y  feature 
of  all  possible  arcliitecture.  Whatever  the  nature  of  the 
building  which  may  be  submitted  to  his  criticism,  if  it  be  an 
edifice  at  all,  if  it  be  anything  else  than  a  mere  heap  of  stones 
like  a  pyramid  or  breakwater,  or  than  a  large  stone  hewn  into 
shape,  like  an  obelisk,  it  will  be  instantly  and  easily  resolvable 
mto  some  of  the  parts  which  we  have  been  hitherto  consider¬ 
ing  .  its  pinnacles  will  separate  themselves  into  their  small  shafts 
and  roofs ;  its  supporting  members  into  shafts  and  arches,  or 
walls  penetrated  by  apertures  of  various  shape,  and  supported 
by  various  kinds  of  buttresses.  Eespecting  each  of  these 
several  features  I  am  certain  that  the  reader  feels  himself  pre¬ 
pared,  by  understanding  their  plain  function,  to  form  some¬ 
thing  like  a  reasonable  and  definite  judgment,  whether  they 
be  good  or  bad ;  and  this  right  judgment  of  parts  will,  in  most 
cases,  lead  him  to  just  reverence  or  condemnation  of  the  whole. 

§  II.  The  various  modes  in  which  these  parts  are  capable 
of  combination,  and  the  merits  of  buildings  of  diflEerent  form 
and  expression,  are  evidently  not  reducible  into  lists,  nor  to 
be  estimated  by  general  laws.  The  nobility  of  each  buildino- 
depends  on  its  special  fitness  for  its  ovm  purposes ;  and  these 
purposes  vary  with  every  climate,  every  soil,  and  every  national 
custom:  nay,  there  were  never,  probably,  two  edifices  erected 
in  which  some  accidental  difference  of  condition  did  not 
require  some  difference  of  plan  or  of  structure;  so  that, 
respecting  plan  and  distribution  of  parts,  I  do  not  hope  to 
collect  any  universal  law  of  right ;  but  there  are  a  few  points 
necessary  to  be  noticed  respecting  the  means  by  which  height 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XIX.  SUPEEIMPOSITIOIT. 


201 


is  attained  in  buildings  of  various  plans,  and  tlie  expediency 
and  methods  of  superimposition  of  one  story  or  tier  of  archi¬ 
tecture  above  another. 

§  III.  For,  in  the  preceding  inquiry,  I  have  always  supposed 
either  that  a  single  shaft  would  reach  to  the  top  of  the  building, 
or  that  the  farther  height  required  might  he  added  in  plain 
wall  above  the  heads  of  the  arches ;  whereas  it  may  often  be 
rather  expedient  to  complete  the  entire  lower  series  of  arches, 
or  finish  the  lower  wall,  with  a  bold  string  course  or  cornice, 
and  build  another  series  of  shafts,  or  another  wall,  on  the  top 
of  it. 

§  IV.  Tliis  superimposition  is  seen  in  its  simplest  form  in  the 
interior  shafts  of  a  Greek  temple  ;  and  it  has  been  largely  used 
in  nearly  all  countries  where  buildings  have  been  meant  for 
real  service.  Outcry  has  often  been  raised  against  it,  but  the 
thing  is  so  sternly  necessary  that  it  has  always  forced  itself  into 
acceptance ;  and  it  would,  therefore,  be  merely  losing  time  to 
refute  the  arguments  of  those  who  have  attempted  its  dispai'- 
agement.  Thus  far,  however,  they  have  reason  on  their  side, 
that  if  a  building  can  be  kept  in  one  grand  mass,  without 
sacrificing  either  its  visible  or  real  adaptation  to  its  objects,  it 
is  not  well  to  divide  it  into  stories  until  it  has  reached  propor¬ 
tions  too  large  to  be  justly  measured  by  the  eye.  It  ought 
then  to  be  divided  in  order  to  mark  its  bulk ;  and  decorative 
divisions  are  often  possible,  which  rather  increase  than  destroy 
the  expression  of  general  unity. 

§  V.  Superimposition,  vnsely  practised,  is  of  two  kinds, 
directly  contrary  to  each  other,  of  weight  on  lightness,  and 
of  lightness  on  weight ;  while  the  superimposition  of  weight 
on  weight,  or  lightness  on  lightness,  is  nearly  always  wrong. 

1.  Weight  on  lightness:  I  do  not  say  weight  on  weakness. 
The  superimposition  of  the  human  body  on  its  limbs  I  call 
weight  on  lightness  :  the  superimposition  of  the  branches  on 
a  tree  trunk  I  call  lightness  on  weight :  in  both  cases  the  sup¬ 
port  is  fully  adequate  to  the  work,  the  form  of  support  being 
regulated  by  the  differences  of  requirement.  Nothing  in 
architecture  is  half  sc  painful  as  the  apparent  want  of  sufficient 


202 


XIX.  SUPERIMPOSITIOX. 


support  when  the  weight  above  is  visibly  passive :  for  all 
buildings  are  not  passive ;  some  seem  to  rise  by  their  own 
strength,  or  float  by  their  own  buoyancy ;  a  dome  requires  no 
visibility  of  support,  one  fancies  it  supported  by  the  air.  But 
passive  architecture  without  help  for  its  passiveness  is  unen¬ 
durable.  In  a  lately  built  house,  Xo.  86,  in  Oxford  Street, 
three  huge  stone  pillars  in  the  second  story  are  carried  apjiar- 
ently  by  the  edges  of  three  sheets  of  jilate  glass  in  the  first.  1 
hardly  know  anything  to  match  the  painfuhiess  of  this  and 
some  other  of  our  shop  structures,  in  which  the  iron-work  is 
concealed ;  nor,  even  when  it  is  apparent,  can  the  eye  ever  feel 
satisfied  of  their  security,  when  built,  as  at  present,  with  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  of  wall  above  a  rod  of  iron  not  the  vddth  of  this  page. 

§  VI.  The  proper  forms  of  this  superimposition  of  weight 
on  lightness  have  arisen,  for  the  most  part,  from  the  necessity 
or  desirableness,  in  many  situations,  of  elevating  the  inhabited 
portions  of  buildings  considerably  above  the  ground  level, 
especially  those  exposed  to  damp  or  inundation,  and  the  con¬ 
sequent  abandonment  of  the  ground  story  as  unserviceable,  or 
else  the  surrender  of  it  to  public  purposes.  Thus,  in  many 
market  and  town  houses,  the  ground  story  is  left  open  as  a 
general  place  of  sheltered  resort,  and  the  enclosed  apartments 
raised  on  pillars.  In  almost  all  warm  countries  the  luxury, 
almost  the  necessity,  of  arcades  to  protect  the  passengers  from 
the  sun,  and  the  desirableness  of  large  space  in  the  rooms 
above,  lead  to  the  same  construction.  Throughout  the  Vene¬ 
tian  islet  group,  the  houses  seem  to  have  been  thus,  in  the  first 
instance,  universally  built,  all  the  older  palaces  appearing  to 
have  had  the  rez  de  chaussee  perfectly  open,  the  upper  parts 
of  the  palace  being  sustained  on  magnificent  arches,  and  the 
smaller  houses  sustained  in  the  same  manner  on  wooden  piers, 
still  retained  in  many  of  the  cortiles,  and  exhibited  character¬ 
istically  throughout  the  main  street  of  Murano.  As  ground 
became  more  valuable  and  house-room  more  scarce,  these 
ground-floors  were  enclosed  with  wall  veils  between  the  origi¬ 
nal  shafts,  and  so  remain  ;  but  the  type  of  the  structure  of  the 
entire  city  is  given  in  the  Ducal  Palace. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XIX.  SUPERIMPOSITIOIS’. 


203 


§  VII.  To  tins  kind  of  superimposition  we  owe  tlie  most 
picturesque  street  effects  tlirougliout  the  world,  and  the  most 
graceful,  as  well  as  the  most  grotesque,  buildings,  from  the 
many-shafted  fantasy  of  the  Alhambra  (a  building  as  beautiful 
in  disposition  as  it  is  base  in  ornamentation)  to  the  four-legged 
stolidity  of  the  Swiss  Chalet  :*  nor  these  only,  but  great  part 
of  the  effect  of  our  cathedrals,  in  which,  necessarily,  the  close 
triforium  and  clerestory  walls  are  superimposed  on  the  nave 
piers ;  perhaps  with  most  majesty  where  with  greatest  sim¬ 
plicity,  as  in  the  old  basilican  types,  and  the  noble  cathedral 
of  Pisa. 

§  VIII.  In  order  to  the  delightfulness  and  security  of  all 
such  arrangements,  this  law  must  be  observed  : — that  in  pro¬ 
portion  to  the  height  of  wall  above  them,  the  shafts  are  to 
be  short.  You  may  take  your  given  height  of  wall,  and  turn 
any  quantity  of  that  wall  into  shaft  that  you  like ;  but  you 
must  not  turn  it  all  into  tall  shafts,  and  then  put  more  wall 
above.  Thus,  having  a  house  five  stories  high,  you  may  turn 
the  lower  story  into  shafts,  and  leave  the  four  stories  in  wall ; 
or  the  two  lower  stories  into  shafts,  and  leave  three  in  wall  | 
but,  whatever  you  add  to  the  shaft,  you  must  take  from  the 
wall.  Tlien  also,  of  course,  the  shorter  the  shaft  the  thicker 
will  be  its  'proportionate^  if  not  its  actual,  diameter.  In  the 
Ducal  Palace  of  Yenice  the  shortest  shafts  are  alv^ays  the 
thickest.f 

§  IX.  The  second  kind  of  superimpositioji,  lightness  on 
weight,  is,  in  its  most  necessary  use,  of  stories  of  houses  one 
upon  another,  where,  of  course,  wall  veil  is  required  in  the 
lower  ones,  and  has  to  support  wall  veil  above,  aided  by  as 
much  of  shaft  structure  as  is  attainable  within  the  given 


*  I  have  spent  much  of  my  life  among  the  Alps ;  hut  I  never  pass,  without 
some  feeling  of  new  surprise,  the  Chalet,  standing  on  its  four  pegs  (each 
topped  with  a  flat  stone),  balanced  in  the  fury  of  Alpine  winds.  It  is  not, 
perhaps,  generally  known  that  the  chief  use  of  the  arrangement  is  not  so 
much  to  raise  the  building  above  the  snow,  as  t )  get  a  draught  of  wind 
beneath  it,  which  may  prevent  the  drift  from  rising  against  its  sides, 
f  Appendix  20,  “  Shafts  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 


204 


XIX.  SUPEEIMPOSITION. 


CONSTRUCTION, 


limits.  The  greatest,  if  not  the  only,  merit  of  the  Homan 
and  Henaissance  Yenetian  architects  is  their  graceful  manage¬ 
ment  of  this  kind  of  superimposition  ;  sometimes  of  complete 
courses  of  external  arches  and  shafts  one  above  the  other ; 
sometimes  of  apertures  with  intermediate  cornices  at  the  levels 
of  the  floors,  and  large  shafts  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  build¬ 
ing  ;  always  observing  that  the  upper  stories  shall  be  at  once 
lighter  and  richer  than  the  lower  ones.  The  entire  value  of 
such  buildings  depends  upon  the  j)erfect  and  easy  expression 
of  the  relative  strength  of  the  stories,  and  the  unity  obtained 
by  the  varieties  of  their  proportions,  while  yet  the  fact  of 
sujDerimposition  and  separation  by  floors  is  frankly  told. 

§  X.  In  churches  and  other  buildings  in  which  there  is  no 
separation  by  floors,  another  kind  of  pure  shaft  superimposition 
is  often  used,  in  order  to  enable  the  builder  to  avail  himself  of 
short  and  slender  shafts.  It  has  been  noted  that  these  are 
often  easily  attainable,  and  of  precious  materials,  when  shafts 
large  enough  and  strong  enough  to  do  the  work  at  once,  could 
not  be  obtained  except  at  unjustifiable  exjDense,  and  of  coarse 
stone.  The  architect  has  then  no  choice  but  to  arrange  his 
work  in  successive  stories ;  either  frankly  completing  the  arch 
work  and  cornice  of  each,  and  beginning  a  new  story  above  it, 
which  is  the  honester  and  nobler  way,  or  else  tying  the  stories 
together  by  supplementary  shafts  from  floor  to  roof, — the 
general  practice  of  the  I^orthern  Gothic,  and  one  which,  unless 
most  gracefully  managed,  gives  the  look  of  a  scaffolding,  with 
cross-poles  tied  to  its  uprights,  to  the  whole  clerestory  wall. 
The  best  method  is  that  which  avoids  all  chance  of  the  upright 
shafts  being  supposed  continuous,  by  increasing  their  number 
and  changing  their  places  in  the  upper  stories,  so  that  the 
whole  woi’k  branches  from  the  ground  like  a  tree.  This  is  the 
superimposition  of  the  Byzantine  and  the  Pisan  Homanesque ; 
the  most  beautiful  examples  of  it  being,  I  think,  the  Southern 
portico  of  St.  Mark’s,  the  church  of  S.  Giovanni  at  Pistoja, 
and  the  apse  of  the  cathedral  of  Pisa.  In  Penaissance  work 
the  two  principles  are  equally  distinct,  though  the  shafts  are 
(I  think)  always  one  above  the  other.  The  reader  may  see  one 


CONSTBTJCTION. 


XIX.  SUPEIIIMPOSITION'. 


205 


of  tlie  best  examples  of  tbe  separately  superimposed  story  in 
'Whitehall  (and  another  far  inferior  in  St.  Paul’s),  and  by  turn¬ 
ing  himself  round  at  AYhitehall  may  compare  with  it  the  system 
of  connecting  shafts  in  the  Treasury  ;  though  this  is  a  singu¬ 
larly  bad  example,  the  window  cornices  of  the  first  floor  being 
like  shelves  in  a  cupboard,  and  cutting  the  mass  of  the  build¬ 
ing  in  two,  in  spite  of  the  pillars. 

§  XI.  But  this  superimposition  of  lightness  on  weight  is 
still  more  distinctly  the  system  of  many  buildings  of  the  kind 
which  I  have  above  called  Architecture  of  Position,  that  is  to 
say,  architecture  of  which  the  greater  part  is  intended  merely 
to  keep  something  in  a  peculiar  position  ;  as  in  light-houses, 
and  many  towers  and  belfries.  The  subject  of  spire  and  tower 
architecture,  however,  is  so  interesting  and  extensive,  that  I 
have  thoughts  of  writing  a  detached  essay  upon  it,  and,  at  all 
events,  cannot  enter  upon  it  here:  but  this  much  is  enough  for 
the  reader  to  note  for  our  present  purpose,  that,  although  many 
tow’ers  do  in  reality  stand  on  piers  or  shafts,  as  the  central 
towers  of  cathedrals,  yet  the  expression  of  all  of  them,  and  the 
real  structure  of  the  best  and  strongest,  are  the  elevation  of 
gradually  diminishing  weight  on  massy  or  even  solid  founda¬ 
tion.  Nevertheless,  since  the  tower  is  in  its  origin  a  building 
for  strength  of  defence,  and  faithfulness  of  watch,  rather  than 
splendor  of  aspect,  its  true  expression  is  of  just  so  much  dimi¬ 
nution  of  weight  upwards  as  may  be  necessary  to  its  fully  bal¬ 
anced  strength,  not  a  jot  more.  There  must  be  no  light-head¬ 
edness  in  your  noble  tower :  impregnable  foundation,  wrathful 
crest,  with  the  vizor  down,  and  the  dark  vigilance  seen  through 
the  clefts  of  it ;  not  the  filigree  crown  or  embroidered  cap. 
No  towers  are  so  grand  as  the  square-browed  ones,  with  massy 
cornices  and  rent  battlements :  next  to  these  come  the  fantastic 
towers,  with  their  various  forms  of  steep  roof ;  the  best,  not 
the  cone,  but  the  plain  gable  thrown  very  high ;  last  of  all  in 
my  mind  (of  good  towers),  those  with  spires  or  crowns, 
though  these,  of  course,  are  fittest  for  ecclesiastical  purposes, 
and  capable  of  the  richest  ornament.  The  paltry  four  or  eight 
pinnacled  things  we  call  towers  in  England  (as  in  T  ork 


206 


XIX.  SUPERIMPOSITIOX. 


CONSTRUCTION, 


Minster),  are  mere  confectioner’s  Gotliic,  and  not  wortli 
classing. 

§  XII.  But,  in  all  of  tliem,  tliis  I  believe  to  be  a  point  of 
cliief  necessity, — that  they  shall  seem  to  stand,  and  shall  vei  ily 
stand,  in  their  own  strength ;  not  by  help  of  buttresses  nor 
artful  balancings  on  this  side  and  on  that.  \  our  noble  ton  ei 
must  need  no  help,  must  be  sustained  by  no  crutches,  must 
give  place  to  no  suspicion  of  decrepitude.  Its  office  may  be 
to  withstand  war,  look  forth  for  tidings,  or  to  point  to  heav  en  . 
but  it  must  have  in  its  own  walls  the  strength  to  do  this ;  it  is 
to  be  itself  a  bulwark,  not  to  be  sustained  by  other  bulwarks ; 
to  rise  and  look  forth,  “  the  tower  of  Lebanon  that  looketh 
toward  Damascus,”  like  a  stern  sentinel,  not  like  a  child  held 
up  in  its  nurse’s  arms.  A  tower  may,  indeed,  have  a 
kind  of  buttress,  a  projection,  or  subordinate  tower  at  each  of 
its  angles ;  but  these  are  to  its  main  body  like  the  satellites  to 
a  shaft,  joined  with  its  strength,  and  associated  in  its  uiu-ight- 
ness,  part  of  the  tower  itself :  exactly  in  the  piopoition  in 
which  they  lose  their  massive  unity  with  its  body  and  assume 
the  form  of  true  buttress  walls  set  on  its  anodes,  the  tower 
loses  its  dignity. 

§  XIII.  These  two  characters,  then,  are  common  to  all  noble 
towers,  however  otherwise  different  in  purpose  or  feature, 
the  first,  that  they  rise  from  massy  foundation  to  lighter  sum¬ 
mits,  frowning  with  battlements  perhaps,  but  yet  evidently 
more  pierced  and  thinner  in  wall  than  beneath,  and,  in  most 
ecclesiastical  examples,  divided  into  rich  open  work  :  the 
second,  that  whatever  the  form  of  the  tower,  it  shall  not  ap¬ 
pear  to  stand  by  help  of  buttresses.  It  follows  from  the^  first 
condition,  as  indeed  it  would  have  followed  from  ordinary 
{esthetic  req^uirements,  that  we  shall  have  continual  variation 
in  the  arrangements  of  the  stories,  and  the  larger  nuinbci  of 
apertures  towards  the  top, — a  condition  exquisitely  carried  out 
in  the  old  Lombardic  towers,  in  which,  however  small  they 
may  be,  the  number  of  apertures  is  always  regularly  increased 
towards  the  summit ;  generally  one  window  in  the  lowest 
stories,  two  in  the  second,  then  three,  five,  and  six  ;  often,  also. 


VI 


TYPES  OF  TOWERS. 


BRITISH 


VENETIAN. 


COKSTEUCTIOK. 


XIX.  SUPEEIMPOSITIOIf. 


207 


one,  two,  four,  and  six,  witli  beautiful  symmetries  of  placing, 
not  at  present  to  our  purpose.  We  may  sufficiently  exemjilify 
the  general  laws  of  tower  building  by  placing  side  by  side, 
drawn  to  the  same  scale,  a  mediaeval  tower,  in  which  most  of 
them  are  simply  and  unaffectedly  observed,  and  one  of  our 
own  modern  towers,  in  which  every  one  of  them  is  violated, 
in  small  space,  convenient  for  comparison.  (Plate  YI.) 

§  XIV.  The  old  tower  is  that  of  St.  Mark’s  at  Yenice,  not  a 
very  perfect  example,  for  its  top  is  Penaissance,  but  as  good 
Renaissance  as  there  is  in  Yenice  ;  and  it  is  fit  for  our  present 
jmrpose,  because  it  owes  none  of  its  effect  to  ornament.  It  is 
built  as  simply  as  it  well  can  be  to  answer  its  purpose :  no 
buttresses  ;  no  external  features  whatever,  except  some  huts  at 
the  base,  and  the  loggia,  afterwards  built,  which,  on  purpose, 
I  have  not  drawn  ;  one  bold  scpiare  mass  of  brickwork  ;  doin 
ble  walls,  with  an  ascending  inclined  plane  between  them,  with 
apertures  as  small  as  possible,  and  these  only  in  necessary 
places,  giving  just  the  light  required  for  ascending  the  stair  or 
slope,  not  a  ray  more  ;  and  the  weight  of  the  whole  relieved 
only  by  the  double  pilasters  on  the  sides,  sustaining  small 
arches  at  the  top  of  the  mass,  each  decorated  with  the  scallop 
or  cockle  shell,  presently  to  be  noticed  as  frequent  in  Renais¬ 
sance  ornament,  and  here,  for  once,  thoroughly  w'ell  aiiplied. 
Then,  when  the  necessary  height  is  reached,  the  belfry  is  left 
open,  as  in  the  ordinary  Romanesque  campanile,  only  the  shafts 
more  slender,  but  severe  and  sjmple,  and  the  whole  crowned 
by  as  much  spire  as  the  tower  would  carry,  to  render  it  more 
serviceable  as  a  landmark.  The  arrangement  is  repeated  in 
numberless  campaniles  throughout  Italy. 

§  XV.  The  one  beside  it  is  one  of  those  of  the  lately  built 
college  at  Edinburgh.  I  have  not  taken  it  as  worse  than  many 
othevs  (just  as  I  have  not  taken  the  St.  Mark’s  tower  as  better 
than  many  others) ;  but  it  hapjiens  to  compress  our  British 
system  of  tower  building  into  small  space.  The  Yenetian 
tower  rises  350  feet,*  and  has  no  buttresses,  though  built  of 

*  I  have  taken  Professor  Willis’s  estimate;  there  being  discrepancy 
among  various  statements.  I  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  measure  tho 


208 


XIX.  SUPERIMPOSITION. 


OONSTRUOTION 


brick ;  the  British  tower  rises  121  feet,  and  is  built  of  stone, 
but  is  supposed  to  be  incapable  of  standing  without  two  huge 
buttresses  on  each  angle.  The  St.  Mark’s  tower  has  a  high 
sloping  roof,  but  carries  it  simply,  requiring  no  pinnacles  at 
its  angles ;  the  British  tower  has  no  visible  roof,  but  has  four 
pinnacles  for  mere  ornament.  The  Venetian  tower  has  its 
lightest  part  at  the  top,  and  is  massy  at  the  base ;  the  British 
tower  has  its  lightest  part  at  the  base,  and  shuts  up  its  windows 
into  a  mere  arrowslit  at  the  top.  What  the  tower  was  built 
for  at  all  must  therefore,  it  seems  to  me,  remain  a  mystery  to 
every  beholder ;  for  surely  no  studious  inhabitant  of  its  upper 
chambers  will  be  conceived  to  be  pursuing  his  employments 
by  the  light  of  the  single  chink  on  each  side ;  and,  had  it  been 
intended  for  a  belfry,  the  sound  of  its  bells  would  have  been 
as  effectually  prevented  from  getting  out  as  the  light  from 
getting  in. 

§  XVI.  In  connexion  with  the  subject  of  towers  and  of 
superimposition,  one  other  feature,  not  conveniently  to  be 
omitted  from  our  house-building,  requires  a  moment’s  notice, 
— the  staircase. 

In  modern  houses  it  can  hardly  be  considered  an  architec¬ 
tural  feature,  and  is  nearly  always  an  ugly  one,  from  its  being 
apparently  without  support.  And  here  I  may  not  unfitly  note 
the  important  distinction,  which  perhaps  ought  to  have  been 
dwelt  upon  in  some  places  before  now,  between  the  marvellous 
and  the  perilous  in  apparent  construction.  There  are  many 
edifices  which  are  awful  or  admirable  in  their  height,  and 
lightness,  and  boldness  of  form,  respecting  which,  neverthe¬ 
less,  we  have  no  fear  that  they  should  fall.  Many  a  mighty 
dome  and  aerial  aisle  and  arch  may  seem  to  stand,  as  I  said, 
by  miracle,  but  by  steadfast  miracle  notwithstanding ;  there  is 
no  fear  that  the  miracle  should  cease.  We  have  a  sense  of 
inherent  power  in  them,  or,  at  all  events,  of  concealed  and 
mysterious  provision  for  their  safety.  But  in  leaning  towers. 

Height  myself,  the  building  being  one  which  does  not  come  within  the 
range  of  our  future  inquiries ;  and  its  exact  dimensions,  even  here,  are  of 
no  importance  as  respects  the  question  at  issue. 


CONSTRUCTION. 


XIX.  SUPERIMPOSITIOH. 


209 


as  of  Pisa  or  Bologna,  and  in  much  minor  architecture,  jias- 
sive  architecture,  of  modern  times,  we  feel  that  there  is  but  a 
chance  between  the  building  and  destruction  ;  that  there  is  no 
miraculous  life  in  it,  which  animates  it  into  security,  but  an 
obstinate,  perhaps  vain,  resistance  to  immediate  danger.  The 
appearance  of  this  is  often  as  strong  in  small  things  as  in 
large  ;  in  the  sounding-boards  of  pulpits,  for  instance,  when 
sustained  by  a  single  pillar  behind  them,  so  that  one  is  in 
dread,  during  the  whole  sermon,  of  the  preacher  being  crushed 
if  a  single  nail  should  give  way;  and  again,  the  modern  geo¬ 
metrical  unsupported  staircase.  Tliere  is  great  disadvantage, 
also,  in  the  arrangement  of  this  latter,  when  room  is  of  value  ; 
and  excessive  ungracefulness  in  its  awkward  divisions  of  the 
nassage  walls,  or  windows.  In  mediaeval  architecture,  where 
there  was  need  of  room,  the  staircase  was  spiral,  and  enclosed 
generally  in  an  exterior  tower,  which  added  infinitely  to  the 
picturesque  effect  of  the  building ;  nor  was  the  stair  itself 
steeper  nor  less  commodious  than  the  ordinary  compressed 
straight  staircase  of  a  modern  dwelling-house.  Many  of  the 
richest  towers  of  domestic  architecture  owe  their  origin  to  this 
arrangement.  In  Italy  the  staircase  is  often  in  the  open  air, 
surrounding  the  interior  court  of  the  house,  and  giving  access 
to  its  various  galleries  or  loggias :  in  this  case  it  is  almost  al¬ 
ways  supported  by  bold  shafts  and  arches,  and  forms  a  most 
interesting  additional  feature  of  the  cortile,  but  presents  no 
peculiarity  of  construction  requiring  our  present  examination. 

AYe  may  here,  therefore,  close  our  inquiries  into  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  construction ;  nor  must  the  reader  be  dissatisfied  Avith 
fhe  simplicity  or  apparent  barrenness  of  their  present  results, 
lie  Avill  find,  Avhen  he  begins  to  apply  them,  that  they  are  of 
more  value  than  they  now  seem ;  but  I  have  studiously  avoided 
letting  myself  be  drawn  into  any  intricate  question,  because  I 
Avished  to  ask  from  the  reader  only  so  much  attention  as  it 
seemed  that  even  the  most  indifferent  would  not  be  unwilling: 
to  pay  to  a  subject  which  is  hourly  becoming  of  greater  prac¬ 
tical  interest.  Evidently  it  Avould  have  been  altogether  beside 
the  ])urpose  of  this  essay  to  haA^e  entered  deeply  into  the  ab- 


210 


XIX.  SUPEEIMPOSmOX. 


CONSTRUCTION, 


stract  science,  or  closely  into  tlie  meclianical  detail,  of  con, 
strnction  :  both  have  been  illustrated  by  writers  far  more 
cajiable  of  doing  so  than  I,  and  may  be  studied  at  the  reader’s 
discretion ;  all  that  has  been  here  endeavored  was  the  leading 
him  to  appeal  to  something  like  definite  principle,  and  refer 
to  the  easily  intelligible  laws  of  convenience  and  necessity, 
whenever  he  found  his  judgment  likely  to  be  overborne  by 
authority  on  the  one  hand,  or  dazzled  by  novelty  on  the  other. 
If  he  has  time  to  do  more,  and  to  follow  out  in  all  their  bril¬ 
liancy  the  mechanical  inventions  of  the  great  engineers  and 
architects  of  the  day,  I,  in  some  sort,  envy  him,  but  must  part 
company  with  him :  for  my  way  lies  not  along  the  viaduct, 
but  down  the  quiet  valley  which  its  arches  cross,  nor  through 
the  tunnel,  but  up  the  hill-side  which  its  cavern  darkens,  to 
see  what  gifts  Nature  will  give  us,  and  with  what  imagery  she 
will  fill  our  thoughts,  that  the  stones  we  have  ranged  in  rude 
order  may  now  be  touched  with  life  ;  nor  lose  for  ever,  in 
their  hewn  nakedness,  the  voices  they  had  of  old,  when  the 
valley  streamlet  eddied  round  them  in  palpitating  light,  and 
the  winds  of  the  hill-side  shook  over  them  the  shadows  of  the 
fern. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 


THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 

§  I.  We  enter  now  on  tlie  second  division  of  our  subject. 
We  liave  no  more  to  do  with  heavy  stones  and  hard  lines ;  we 
are  g'oing  to  be  happy :  to  look  round  in  the  world  and  dis¬ 
cover  (in  a  serious  manner  always,  however,  and  under  a  sense 
of  responsibility)  what  we  like  best  in  it,  and  to  enjoy  the  same 
at  our  leisure  :  to  gather  it,  examine  it,  fasten  all  we  can  of  it 
into  imperishable  forms,  and  put  it  where  we  may  see  it  for 
ever. 

This  is  to  decorate  architecture. 

§  II.  There  are,  therefore,  three  steps  in  the  process :  first, 
to  find  out  in  a  grave  manner  what  we  like  best ;  secondly, 
to  put  as  much  of  this  as  we  can  (which  is  little  enough)  into* 
form ;  thirdly,  to  put  this  formed  abstraction  into  a  proper 
place. 

And  we  have  now,  therefore,  to  make  these  three  inquiries 
in  succession  :  first,  what  we  like,  or  what  is  the  right  materia] 
of  ornament ;  then  how  we  are  to  present  it,  or  its  right  treat¬ 
ment  ;  then,  where  we  are  to  put  it,  or  its  right  place.  I  thinly 
I  can  answer  that  first  inquiry  in  this  Chapter,  the  second  in 
quiry  in  the  next  Chapter,  and  the  third  I  shall  answer  in  j, 
more  diffusive  manner,  by  taking  up  in  succession  the  several 
parts  of  architecture  above  distinguished,  and  rapidly  noting 
the  kind  of  ornament  fittest  for  each. 

§  m.  I  said  in  chapter  II.  §  xiv.,  that  all  noble  ornamenta¬ 
tion  was  the  expression  of  man’s  delight  in  God’s  work.  This 
implied  that  there  was  an  fynoble  ornamentation,  which  was 
the  expression  of  man’s  delight  in  his  own.  There  is  such  a 
school,  chiefly  degraded  classic  and  Eenaissance,an  which  the 


213 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


DECORATION 


ornament  is  composed  of  imitations  of  things  made  by  man.  I 
think,  before  inquiring  what  we  like  best  of  God’s  work,  wo 
had  bettei’  get  rid  of  all  this  imitation  of  man’s,  and  be  quite 
sure  we  do  not  like  that. 

§  IV.  We  shall  rapidly  glance,  then,  at  the  material  of  deco- 
ration  hence  derived.  And  now  I  cannot,  as  I  before  have 
done  respecting  construction,  convince  the  reader  of  one  thing 
being  wrong,  and  another  right.  I  have  confessed  as  much 
again  and  again  ;  I  am  now  only  to  make  appeal  to  him,  and 
cross-question  him,  whether  he  really  does  like  things  or  not. 
If  he  likes  the  ornament  on  the  base  of  the  column  of  the  Place 
Vendome,  composed  of  Wellington  boots  and  laced  frock  coats, 
I  cannot  hel]3  it ;  I  can  only  say  I  differ  from  him,  and  don’t 
like  it.  And  if,  therefore,  I  speak  dictatorially,  and  say  this 
is  base,  or  degraded,  or  ugly,  I  mean  only  that  I  believe  men 
of  the  longest  experience  in  the  matter  would  either  think  it 
so,  or  would  be  prevented  from  thinking  it  so  only  by  some 
morbid  condition  of  their  minds  ;  and  I  believe  that  the  reader, 
if  he  examine  himself  candidly,  will  usually  agree  in  my 
statements. 

§  V.  The  subjects  of  ornament  found  in  man’s  work  may 
properly  fall  into  four  heads :  1.  Instruments  of  art,  agriculture, 
and  war  ;  armor,  and  dress  ;  2.  Drapery ;  3.  Shipping ;  4 
Architecture  itself. 

1.  Instruments,  armor,  and  dress. 

The  custom  of  raising  trophies  on  pillars,  and  of  dedicating 
arms  in  temples,  ajipears  to  have  first  suggested  the  idea  of 
employing  them  as  the  subjects  of  sculptural  ornament : 
thenceforward,  this  abuse  has  been  chiefly  characteristic  of 
classical  architecture,  whether  true  or  Kenaissancc.  Armor  is 
a  noble  thing  in  its  proper  service  and  subordination  to  the 
body;  so  is  an  animal’s  hide  on  its  back;  lint  a  heap  of  cast 
skins,  or  of  shed  armor,  is  alike  unworthy  of  all  regard  or  imi¬ 
tation.  We  owe  much  true  suhhmity,  and  more  of  delightful 
picturesqueness,  to  the  introduction  of  armor  both  in  painting 
and  sculpture :  in  poetry  it  is  better  still, — Homer’s  undressed 
Achilles  is  less  grand  than  his  crested  and  shielded  Achilles, 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATEEIAL  OF  ORXAMEX'T. 


213 


though  Phidias  would  rather  have  had  him  naked ;  in  all  medi¬ 
aeval  painting,  arms,  like  all  other  parts  of  costume,  are  treated 
with  exquisite  care  and  delight ;  in  the  designs  of  Leonardo, 
Katfaelle,  and  Perugino,  the  armor  sometimes  becomes  almost 
too  conspicuous  from  the  rich  and  endless  invention  bestowed 
upon  it ;  while  Titian  and  Pubens  seek  in  its  flash  what  the 
Milanese  and  Perugian  sought  in  its  form,  sometimes  subordi¬ 
nating  heroism  to  the  light  of  the  steel,  while  the  great 
designers  wearied  themselves  in  its  elaborate  fancy. 

Put  all  this  labor  was  given  to  the  living,  not  the  dead 
armor ;  to  the  shell  with  its  animal  in  it,  not  the  cast  shell  of 
the  beach ;  and  even  so,  it  was  introduced  more  sparingly  by 
the  good  sculptors  than  the  good  painters ;  for  the  former  felt, 
and  with  justice,  that  the  painter  had  the  power  of  conquering 
the  over  prominence  of  costume  by  the  expression  and  color 
of  the  countenance,  and  that  by  tlie  darkness  of  the  eye,  and 
glow  of  the  cheek,  he  could  always  conquer  the  gloom  and  the 
flash  of  the  mail  ;  but  they  could  hardly,  by  any  boldness  or 
energy  of  tlie  marble  features,  conquer  the  forwardness  and 
conspicuousness  of  the  sharp  armorial  forms.  Their  armed 
figures  were  therefore  almost  always  subordinate,  their  principal 
figures  draped  or  naked,  and  their  choice  of  subject  was  much 
influenced  by  this  feeling  of  necessity.  But  the  Renaissance 
sculptors  displayed  the  love  of  a  Camilla  for  the  mere  crest  and 
plume.  Paltiy  and  false  alike  in  every  feeling  of  their  nar¬ 
rowed  minds,  they  attached  themselves,  not  only  to  costume 
without  the  person,- but  to  the  pettiest  details  of  the  costume 
itself.  They  could  not  describe  x\chilles,  but  they  could  de¬ 
scribe  his  shield;  a  shield  like  those  of  dedicated  spoil,  without 
a  handle,  never  to  be  waved  in  the  face  of  war.  And  then  we 
have  helmets  and  lances,  bannei-s  and  swords,  sometimes  with 
men  to  hold  them,  sometimes  without;  but  always  chiselled 
with  a  tailor-like  love  of  the  chasing  or  the  einbroidery, — show 
helmets  of  the  stage,  no  Vulcan  work  on  them,  no  heavy  ham¬ 
mer  strokes,  no  Etna  fire  in  the  metal  of  them,  nothing  but 
pasteboard  crests  and  high  feathers.  And  these,  cast  together 
in  disorderly  heaps,  or  grinning  vacantly  over  key-stones,  form 


214: 


XX.  THE  MATEEIAL  OF  OllNAMENT. 


DECOKATION. 


one  of  the  leading  decorations  of  Kenaissance  architecture,  and 
that  one  of  tlie  best ;  for  helmets  and  lances,  however  loosely 
laid,  are  better  than  violins,  and  pipes,  and  books  of  music, 
which  were  another  of  the  Palladian  and  Sansovinian  sources 
of  ornament.  Supported  by  ancient  authority,  the  abuse  soon 
became  a  matter  of  pride,  and  since  it  was  easy  to  copy  a  heap 
01  cast  clothes,  but  difficult  to  iiianage  an  arranged  design  of 
human  figures,  the  indolence  of  architects  came  to  the  aid  of 
their  affectation,  until  by  the  moderns  we  find  the  pi’actice  car¬ 
ried  out  to  its  most  interesting  results,  and,  as  above  noted,  a 
large  pair  of  boots  occupying  the  principal  ^^lace  in  the  bas- 
reliefs  on  the  base  of  the  Colonne  Yendome. 

§  less  offensive,  because  singularly  grotesque,  example 
of  the  abuse  at  its  height,  occurs  in  the  Hotel  des  Invalides, 
where  the  dormer  windows  are  suits  of  armor  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  corselet,  crowned  by  the  helmet,  and  with  the 
window  in  the  middle  of  the  breast. 

Instruments  of  agriculture  and  the  arts  are  of  less  frequent 
occurrence,  except  in  hieroglyphics,  and  otlier  work,  where 
they  are  not  employed  as  ornameTits,  but  represented  for  the 
sake  of  accurate  knowledge,  ,or  as  symbols.  Wherever  they 
have  purpose  of  this  kind,  they  are  of  course  perfectly  right ; 
but  they  are  then  part  of  the  building’s  conversation,  not  con¬ 
ducive  to  its  beauty.  The  French  have  managed,  with  great 
dexterity,  the  representation  of  the  machinery  for  the  elevation 
of  their  Luxor  obelisk,  now  sculptured  on  its  base. 

§  Yii.  2.  Drapery.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  error  of 
introducing  drapery,  as  such,  for  ornament,  in  the  “Seven 
Lamps.”  I  may  here  note  a  curious  instance  of  the  abuse  in 
tlie  church  of  the  Jesuiti  at  Venice  (Renaissance).  Oii  first 
entering  you  suppose  that  the  church,  being  in  a  poor  quarter 
of  the  city,  has  been  somewhat  meanly  decorated  by  heavy 
green  and  white  curtains  of  an  ordinary  upholsterer’s  pattern  : 
on  looking  closer,  they  are  discovered  to  be  of  marble,  with  the 
green  pattern  inlaid.  Another  remarkable  instance  is  in  a  piece 
of  not  altogethei-  unworthy  architecture  at  Paris  (Rue  Rivoli), 
where  the  columns  are  supposed  to  be  decorated  with  images 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  HATEEIAL  OE  ORXAMEJSTT. 


215 


of  handkerchiefs  tied  in  a  stout  knot  round  the  middle  of  them. 
This  shrewd  invention  bids  fair  to  become  a  new  order.  Mul¬ 
titudes  of  massy  curtains  and  various  upholstery,  more  or  less 
in  imitation  of  that  of  the  drawing-room,  are  carved  and  gilt, 
in  wood  or  stone,  about  the  altars  and  other  theatrical  portions 
of  Romanist  churches ;  but  from  these  coarse  and  senseless  vul¬ 
garities  we  may  well  turn,  in  all  haste,  to  note,  with  respect  as 
well  as  regret,  one  of  the  errors  of  the  great  school  of  Niccolo 
Pisano, — an  error  so  full  of  feeling  as  to  be  sometimes  all  but 
redeemed,  and  altogether  forgiven, — the  sculpture,  namely,  of 
curtains  around  the  recumbent  statues  upon  tombs,  curtains 
which  angels  are  represented  as  withdrawing,  to  gaze  upon  the 
faces  of  those  who  are  at  rest.  For  some  time  the  idea  was 
simply  and  slightly  expressed,  and  though  there  was  always  a 
painfulness  in  finding  the  shafts  of  stone,  which  were  felt  to  be 
the  real  supporters  of  the  canopy,  represented  as  of  yielding 
drapery,  yet  the  beauty  of  the  angelic  figures,  and  the  tender¬ 
ness  of  the  thought,  disarmed  all  animadversion.  But  the 
scholars  of  the  Pisani,  as  usual,  caricatured  when  they  were 
unable  to  invent ;  and  the  quiet  curtained  canopy  became  a 
huge  marble  tent,  with  a  pole  in  the  centre  of  it.  Thus  vul¬ 
garised,  the  idea  itself  soon  disappeared,  to  make  room  for  urns, 
torches,  and  weepers,  and  the  other  modern  paraphernalia  of 
the  churchyard. 

§  VIII.  3.  Shipping.  I  have  allowed  this  kind  of  subject  to 
form  a  separate  liead,  owing  to  tiie  importance  of  rostra  in 
Roman  decoration,  and  to  the  continual  occurrence  of  naval 
subjects  in  modern  monumental  bas-relief.  Mr.  Fergusson 
says,  somewhat  doubtfully,  that  he  perceives  a  “  hind  of 
beauty”  in  a  ship  :  T  say,  without  any  manner  of  doubt,  that 
a  ship  is  one  of  the  loveliest  things  man  ever  made,  and  one  of 
the  noblest ;  nor  do  I  know  any  lines,  out  of  divine  work,  so 
lovely  as  those  of  the  head  of  a  ship,  or  even  as  the  sweep  of 
the  timbers  of  a  small  boat,  not  a  race  boat,  a  mere  floating 
chisel,  but  a  broad,  strong,  sea  boat,  able  to  breast  a  wave  and 
break  it :  and  yet,  with  all  this  beauty,  ships  cannot  be  made 
subjects  of  sculpture.  No  one  pauses  in  particular  delight 


216 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  OEXAMEXT.  DECORATION 


* 

bciiGtitli  tliG  2^Gd.iinGiits  of  tliG  Admiralty  j  iior  doGS  scGiiGry  of 
shipping  GVGr  bocoiiiG  promiiiGiit  in  bas-rGliof  without  dostroy- 
ing  it ,  \\  itiiGSs  tho  basG  of  tliG  hl^olson  pillar.  It  may  bo,  and 
must  bo  soniGtiiuGS,  introducod  in  sovoro  subordination  to  tliG 
hgurG  subject,  but  just  Gnough  to  indicate  the  scene  ;  sketched 
in  the  lightest  lines  on  the  background ;  never  with  any 
attempt  at  realisation,  never  with  any  equality  to  the  force  of 
the  figures,  unless  the  whole  purpose  of  the  subject  be  pictu¬ 
resque.  I  shall  explain  this  exception  presently,  in  speaking 
of  imitative  architecture. 


§  IX.  There  is  one  jnece  of  a  shiji’s  fittings,  however,  which 
may  be  thought  to  have  obtained  acceptance  as  a  constant 
element  of  architectural  ornament, — the  cable  i  it  is  not,  how¬ 
ever,  the  cable  itself,  but  its  abstract  form,  a  group  of  twisted 
lines  (which  a  cable  only  exhibits  in  common  with  many  natu- 
lal  objects),  which  is  indeed  beautiful  as  an  ornament.  Make 
the  resemblance  complete,  give  to  the  stone  the  threads  and 
chaiacter  of  the  cable,  and  you  may,  perha^is,  regard  the  sculj)- 
ture  with  curiosity,  but  never  more  with  admiration.  Consider 
the  effect  of  the  base  of  the  statue  of  King  William  lY.  at 
the  end  of  London  Brido’e. 

o 

§  x.  4.  Architecture  itself.  The  erroneous  use  of  armor,  or 
diess,  or  instruments,  or  shipjiing,  as  decorative  sulqect,  is 
almost  exclusively  confined  to  bad  architecture— Koman  or 
Kenaissance.  But  the  false  use  of  architecture  itself,  as  an 
ornament  of  architecture,  is  conspicuous  even  in  the  medimval 
work  of  the  best  times,  and  is  a  grievous  fault  in  some  of  its 
noblest  examples. 

^  It  is,  therefore,  of  great  importance  to>note  exactly  at  what, 
point  this  abuse  begins,  and  in  what  it  consists. 


§  XI.  In  all  bas-relief,  architecture  may  be  introduced  as  an 
exjilanation  of  the  scene  in  which  the  figures  act ;  but  with 
more  or  less  prominence  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  importance 
of  the  figures. 


The  metaphysical  reason  of  this  is,  that  where  the  figures 
are  of  great  value  and  beauty,  the  mind  is  supposed  to  b^e  en¬ 
gaged  wholly  with  them ;  and  it  is  an  inqiertinence  to  disturb 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATEEIAL  OE  OEXAMEXT. 


217 


its  contemplation  of  tliem  by  any  minor  features  whatever. 
As  tlie  figures  become  of  less  value,  and  are  regarded  with  less 
intensity,  accessory  subjects  may  be  introduced,  suck  as  the 
tliougkts  may  have  leisure  for. 

Thus,  if  the  figures  be  as  large  as  life,  and  complete  statues, 
it  is  gross  vulgarity  to  carve  a  temple  above  them,  or  distribute 
them  over  sculptured  rocks,  or  lead  them  up  steps  into  pyra¬ 
mids  :  I  need  hardly  instance  Canova’s  works,*  and  the  Dutch 
pulpit  groups,  with  fishermen,  boats,  and  nets,  in  the  midst  of 
church  naves. 

If  the  figures  be  in  bas-relief,  though  as  large  as  life,  the 
scene  may  be  explained  by  lightly  traced  outlines :  this  is 
admirably  done  in  the  Kinevite  marbles. 

If  the  figures  be  in  bas-relief,  or  even  alto-relievo,  but  less 
than  life,  and  if  their  purpose  is  rather  to  enrich  a  space  and 
produce  picturesque  shadows,  than  to  draw  the  thoughts 
entirely  to  themselves,  the  scenery  in  which  they  act  may  be¬ 
come  prominent.  The  most  exquisite  examples  of  this  treat¬ 
ment  are  the  gates  of  Ghiberti.  What  would  that  Madonna 
of  the  Annunciation  be,  without  the  little  shrine  into  which 
she  shrinks  back?  But  all  mediaeval  work  is  full  of  de¬ 
lightful  examples  of  the  same  kind  of  treatment :  the  gates  of 
hell  and  of  paradise  are  important  pieces,  both  of  explanation 
and  effect,  in  all  early  representations  of  the  last  judgment,  or 
of  the  descent  into  Hades.  The  keys  of  St.  Peter,  and  the 
crushing  fiat  of  the  devil  under  his  own  door,  when  it  is  beaten 
in,  would  hardly  be  understood  without  the  respective  gate¬ 
ways  above.  The  best  of  all  the  later  capitals  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  of  Yenice  depends  for  great  part  of  its  value  on  the 
richness  of  a  small  campanile,  which  is  pointed  to  proudly  by 
a  small  emperor  in  a  turned-up  hat,  who,  the  legend  informs 
us,  is  “  Huina  Pompilio,  imperador,  edifichador  di  tempi  e 
chiese.” 

§  XII.  Shipping  may  be  introduced,  or  rich  fancy  of  vest- 


*  The  admiration  of  Canova  I  liold  to  be  one  of  the  most  deadly  symp¬ 
toms  in  the  civilisation  of  the  upper  classes  in  the  present  century. 


218 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  OEXAMEHT,  DECORATION. 


merits,  crowns,  and  ornaments,  exactly  on  the  same  conditions 
as  architecture  ;  and  if  the  reader  will  look  back  to  my  defi¬ 
nition  of  the  picturesque  in  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  he  will  see 
why  I  said,  above,  that  they  might  only  be  prominent  when 
the  purpose  of  the  subject  was  partly  picturesque ;  that  is  to 
say,  when  the  mind  is  intended  to  derive  part  of  its  enjoyment 
from  the  parasitical  qualities  and  accidents  of  the  thing,  not 
from  the  heart  of  the  thing  itself. 

And  thus,  while  we  must  regret  the  flapping  sails  in  the 
death  of  Xelson  in  Trafalgar  Square,  we  may  yet  most  heartily 
enjoy  the  sculpture  of  a  storm  in  one  of  the  bas-reliefs  of  the 
tomb  of  St.  Pietro  Martire  in  the  church  of  St.  Eustorgio  at 
Milan,  where  the  grouping  of  the  figures  is  most  fancifully 
complicated  by  the  under-cut  cordage  of  the  vessel. 

§  XIII.  In  all  these  instances,  however,  observe  that  the  per¬ 
mission  to  represent  the  human  work  as  an  ornament,  is  con¬ 
ditional  on  its  being  necessary  to  the  representation  of  a  scene, 
or  explanation  of  an  action.  On  no  terms  whatever  could  any 
such  subject  be  independently  admissible. 

Observe,  therefore,  the  use  of  manufacture  as  ornament  is — 

1.  With  heroic  figure  sculpture,  not  admissible  at  all. 

2.  With  picturesque  figure  sculpture,  admissible  in  the 

degree  of  its  picturesqueness. 

3.  Without  figure  sculjiture,  not  admissible  at  all. 

So  also  in  painting :  Michael  Angelo,  in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
would  not  have  willingly  painted  a  dress  of  figured  damask 
or  of  watered  satin ;  his  was  heroic  painting,  not  admitting 
accessories. 

Tintoret,  Titian,  Veronese,  Rubens,  and  Vandyck,  would 
be  very  sorry  to  part  with  their  figured  stuffs  and  lustrous 
silks  ;  and  sorry,  observe,  exactly  in  the  degree  of  their  pictu¬ 
resque  feeling.  Should  not  we  also  be  soi’ry  to  have  Bishoji 
Ambrose  without  his  vest,  in  that  picture  of  the  National 
<  lallery  ? 

But  I  think  Vandyck  would  not  have  liked,  on  the  other 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


319 


hand,  the  vest  without  the  bishop.  I  much  doubt  if  Titian  or 
Veronese  would  have  enjoyed  going  into  Waterloo  House, 
and  making  studies  of  dresses  upon  the  counter. 

§  XIV.  So,  therefore,  finally,  neither  architecture  nor  any 
other  human  work  is  admissible  as  an  ornament,  except  in 
subordination  to  figure  subject.  And  this  law  is  grossly  and 
painfully  violated  by  those  curious  examples  of  Gothic,  both 
early  and  late,  in  the  north,  (but  late,  I  think,  exclusively,  in 
Italy,)  in  which  the  minor  features  of  the  architecture  were 
composed  of  small  models  of  the  larger :  examples  which  led 
the  way  to  a  series  of  abuses  materially  affecting  the  life, 
strength,  and  nobleness  of  the  Northern  Gothic, — abuses 
which  no  Hinevito,  nor  Egyptian,  nor  Greek,  nor  Byzantine, 
nor  Italian  of  the  earlier  ages  would  have  endured  for  an 
instant,  and  which  strike  me  with  renewed  sm-prise  whenever 
I  pass  beneath  a  portal  of  thirteenth  century  Northern  Gothic, 
associated  as  they  are  with  manifestations  of  exquisite  feeling 
and  power  in  other  directions.  The  porches  of  Bourges, 
Amiens,  Notre  Dame  of  Paris,  and  Notre  Dame  of  Dijon, 
may  be  noted  as  conspicuous  in  error  :  small  models  of  feudal 
towers  with  diminutive  windows  and  battlements,  of  cathe¬ 
dral  spires  with  scaly  pinnacles,  mixed  with  temple  pediments 
and  nondescript  edifices  of  every  kind,  are  crowded  together 
over  the  recess  of  the  niche  into  a  confused  fool’s  cap  for  the 
saint  below.  Italian  Gothic  is  almost  entirely  free  from  the 
taint  of  this  barbarism  until  the  Renaissance  period,  when  it 
becomes  rampant  in  the  cathedral  of  Como  and  Certosa  of 
Pavia;  and  at  Venice  we  find  the  Renaissance  churches  deco¬ 
rated  with  models  of  fortifications  like  those  in  the  Repository 
at  Woolwich,  or  inlaid  with  mock  arcades  in  pseudo-perspec¬ 
tive,  copied  from  gardeners’  paintings  at  the  ends  of  conser¬ 
vatories. 

.  §  XV.  I  conclude,  then,  with  the  reader’s  leave,  that  all 
ornament  is  base  which  takes  for  its  subject  human  work,  that 
it  is  utterly  base, — painful  to  every  rightly-toned  mind,  without 
perhaps  immediate  sense  of  the  reason,  but  for  a  reason  pal¬ 
pable  enough  when  we  do  think  of  it.  For  to  carve  our  own 


220 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT. 


DECORATION. 


work,  and  set  it  up  for  admiration,  is  a  miserable  self-com¬ 
placency,  a  contentment  in  our  own  wretched  doings,  when  we 
might  have  been  looking  at  God’s  doings.  And  all  noble 
ornainent  is  the  exact  reverse  of  this.  It  is  the  expression  of 
man’s  delight  in  God’s  work. 

§  XVI.  For  observe,  the  function  of  ornament  is  to  make 
you  happy.  How  in  what  are  you  rightly  happy  ?  Hot  in 
thinking  of  what  you  have  done  yourself ;  not  in  your  own 
23ride,  not  your  own  birth  ;  not  in  your  own  being,  or  your 
own  Will,  but  in  looking  at  God ;  watching  what  He  does, 
what  He  is ;  and  obeying  Ilis  law,  and  yielding  yourself  to 
His  will. 

You  are  to  be  made  hajijiy  by  ornaments ;  therefore  they 
must  be  the  expi-ession  of  all  this.  Hot  copies  of  your  own 
handiwork ;  not  boastings  of  your  own  grandeur ;  not  herald¬ 
ries  ;  not  king’s  arms,  nor  any  creature’s  arms,  but  God’s  arm, 
seen  in  His  work.  Hot  manifestation  of  your  delight  in  your 
own  laws,  or  your  own  liberties,  or  your  own  inventions  ;  but 
in  divine  laws,  constant,  daily,  common  laws ; — not  Composite 
laws,  nor  Doric  laws,  nor  laws  of  the  live  orders,  but  of  the 
Ten  Commandments. 

§  XVII.  Then  the  projier  material  of  ornament  will  be  what¬ 
ever  God  has  created ;  and  its  projier  treatment,  that  which 
seems  in  accordance  with  or  symbolical  of  His  laws.  And, 
for  material,  we  shall  therefore  have,  first,  the  abstract  lines 
which  are  most  frequent  in  nature  ;  and  then,  from  lower  to 
higher,  the  whole  range  of  systematised  inorganic  and  organic 
forms.  We  shall  rajiidly  glance  in  order  at  their  kinds  ;  and, 
however  absurd  the  elemental  division  of  inorganic  matter  by 
the  ancients  may  seem  to  the  modern  chemist,  it  is  one  so  grand 
and  simple  for  arrangements  of  external  appearances,  that  I 
shall  here  follow  it ;  noticing  first,  after  abstract  lines,  the 
imitable  forms  of  the  four  elements,  of  Earth,  Water,  Fire, 
and  Air,  and  then  those  of  animal  organisms.  It  may  be  con¬ 
venient  to  the  reader  to  have  the  order  stated  in  a  clear  suc¬ 
cession  at  first,  thus  : — 


liFXORATION. 


XX.  TTIE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


221 


1.  Abstract  lines. 

2.  Forms  of  Eartli  (Crystals). 

3.  Forms  of  Water  (Waves). 

4.  Forms  of  Fire  (Flames  and  Kays). 

5.  Forms  of  Air  (Clouds). 

6.  (Organic  forms.)  Shells. 

7.  Fish. 

8.  Keptiles  and  insects. 

9.  Vegetation  (A.)  Stems  and  Trunks. 

10.  Vegetation  (B.)  Foliage. 

11.  Birds. 

12.  Mammalian  animals  and  Man. 

It  may  be  objected  that  clouds  are  a  form  of  moisBire,  not 
of  air.  They  are,  however,  a  perfect  expression  of  aerial  states 
and  currents,  and  may  sufficiently  well  stand  for  the  element 
they  move  in.  And' I  have  put  vegetation  apparently  some- 
vdiat  out  of  its  place,  owing  to  its  vast  impm’tance  as  a  means 
of  decoration,  and  its  constant  association  with  birds  and  men. 

§  XVIII.  1.  Abstract  lines.  I  have  not  with  lines  named 
also  shades  and  colors,  for  this  evident  reason,  that  there  are 
no  such  things  as  abstract  shadows,  irrespective  of  the  forms 
which  exhibit  them,  and  distinguished  in  their  own  nature 
from  each  other;  and  that  the  arrangement  of  shadows,  m 
greater  or  less  quantity,  or  in  certain  harmonical  successions, 
is  an  affiiir  of  treatment,  not  of  selection.  And  when  we  use 
abstract  colors,  we  are  in  fact  using  a  part  of  nature  herself, 
—using  a  quality  of  her  light,  correspondent  with  that  of  tlie 
air,  to  "carry  sound;  and  the  arrangement  of  color  m  harm.o- 
nioiis  masses  is  again  a  matter  of  treatment,  not  selection. 
Yet  even  in  this  separate  art  of  coloring,  as  referred  to  archi¬ 
tecture,  it  is  very  notable  that  the  best  tints  are  always  those 
of  natural  stones.  These  can  hardly  be  wrong ;  I  tliink  1 
never  yet  saw  an  offensive  introduction  of  the  natural  colors  ot 
marble  and  precious  stones,  unless  in  small  mosaics,  and  in  one 
or  two  glaring  instances  of  the  resolute  determination  to  pio 
duce  something  ugly  at  any  cost.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have 


222 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORX'AMEXT. 


DECORATION. 


most  assuredly  never  yet  seen  a  painted  building,  ancient  or 
modern,  wliicli  seemed  to  me  quite  right. 

§  XIX.  Our  fii-st  constituents  of  ornament  will  tlierefore  be 
abstiact  lines,  that  is  to  say,  the  most  frequent  contours  of 
natural  objects,  transferred  to  architectural  forms  when  it  is 
not  right  or  possible  to  render  such  forms  distinctly  imitative. 
For  instance,  the  line  or  curve  of  the  edge  of  a  leaf  may  be 
accurately  given  to  the  edge  of  a  stone,  without  rendering  the 
stone  in  the  least  a  leaf,  or  suggestive  of  a  leaf;  and  this 
the  more  fully,  because  the  lines  of  nature  are  alike  in  all  her 
works;  simpler  or  richer  in  combination,  but  the  same  in 
character ;  and  when  they  are  taken  out  of  their  combinations 
it  is  impossible  to  say  from  which  of  her  works  they  have  been 
borrowed,  tiieir  universal  property  being  that  of  ever-varying 
cuivature  in  the  most  subtle  and  subdued  transitions,  with 
peculiar  expressions  of  motion,  elasticity,  or  dependence,  which 
I  have  already  insisted  upon  at  some  length  in  the  chapters  on 
typical  beauty  in  “Modern  Painters.”  ^But,  that  the  reader 
inay  here  be  able  to  compare  them  for  himself  as  deduced  from 
diffeient  sources,  I  have  drawn,  as  accurately  as  I  can,  on  tho 
opposite  plate,  some  ten  or  eleven  lines  from  natural  forms  of 
veiy  different  substances  and  scale  :  the  first,  a  h,  is  in  the  original, 

I  thiidv,  the  most  beautiful  simjile  curve  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life;  it  is  a  curve  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile  long,  formed 
by  the  surface  of  a  small  glacier  of  the  second  ordei-,  on  a  spur 
of  the  Aiguille  de  Blaitiere  (Chamouni).  I  have  merely  out¬ 
lined  the  crags  on  the  right  of  it,  to  show  their  sympathy  and 
united  action  with  the  curve  of  the  glacier,  which  is  of  course 
entirely  dependent  on  their  opposition  to  its  descent ;  softened, 
however,  into  unity  by  the  snow,  which  rarely  melts  on  this 
high  glacier  surface. 

The  line  d  c  is  some  mile  and  a  half  or  two  miles  long;  it  is 
part  of  the  flank  of  the  chain  of  the  Dent  d’Oche  above  tho 
lake  of  Geneva,  one  or  two  of  the  lines  of  the  higher  and  more 
distant  ranges  being  given  in  combination  with  it. 

h  is  a  line  about  four  feet  long,  a  branch  of  spruce  fir.  I 
have  taken  this  tree  because  it  is  commonly  supposed  to  bo 


abstract  lines 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


223 


stiff  and  ungraceful ;  its  outer  sprays  are,  liowever,  more  noble 
in  tlieir  sweep  than  almost  any  that  I  know :  but  this  fragment 
is  seen  at  great  disadvantage,  because  placed  upside  down,  in 
order  that  the  reader  may  compare  its  curvatures  with  c  d,  e  g, 
and  i  X',  which  are  all  mountain  lines ;  e  g,  about  five  hundred 
feet  of  the  southern  edge  of  the  Matterhorn ;  i  h,  the  entire 
slope  of  the  x\iguille  Bouchard,  from  its  summit  into  the  valley 
of  Chamouni,  a  line  some  three  miles  long ;  Z  m  is  the  line  of 
the  side  of  a  willow  leaf  traced  by  laying  the  leaf  on  the  paper ; 
n  0,  one  of  the  innumerable  groups  of  curves  at  the  lip  of  a 
paper  Xautihis;  j?,  a  spiral,  traced  on  the  pajier  round  a  Ser- 
pula ;  q  r,  the  leaf  of  the  Alisnia  Plantago  with  its  interior 
ribs,  real  size ;  s  t,  the  side  of  a  bay-leaf ;  u  w,  of  a  salvia  leaf  : 
and  it  is  to  be  carefully  noted  that  these  last  curves,  being 
never  intended  by  nature  to  be  seen  singly,  are  more  heavy  and 
less  agreeable  than  any  of  the  others  which  would  be  seen  as 
independent  lines.  But  all  agree  in  their  character  of  change¬ 
ful  curvature,  the  mountain  and  glacier  lines  only  excelling  the 
rest  in  delicacy  and  richness  of  transition. 

§  XX.  Why  lines  of  this  kind  are  beautiful,  I  endeavored  to 
show  in  the  “  Modern  Painters but  one  point,  there  omitted, 
may  be  mentioned  here, — that  almost  all  these  lines  are  expres¬ 
sive  of  action  of  force  of  some  kind,  while  the  circle  is  a  line 
of  limitation  or  support.  In  leafage  they  mark  the  forces  of 
its  growth  and  expansion,  but  some  among  the  most  beautiful 
cf  them  are  described  by  bodies  variously  in  motion,  or  sub¬ 
jected  to  force ;  as  by  projectiles  in  the  air,  by  the  particles  of 
water  in  a  gentle  current,  by  planets  in  motion  in  an  orbit,  by 
their  satellites,  if  the  actual  path  of  the  satellite  in  space  bo 
considered  instead  of  its  relation  to  the  planet ;  by  boats,  or 
birds,  turning  in  the  water  or  air,  by  clouds  in  various  action 
upon  the  wind,  by  sails  in  the  curvatures  they  assume  under  its 
force,  and  by  thousands  of  other  objects  moving  or  bearing 
force.  In  the  Alisma  leaf,  q  r,  the  lines  through  its  body, 
which  are  of  peculiar  beauty,  mark  the  different  expansions  of 
its  fibres,  and  are,  I  think,  exactly  the  same  as  those  which 
would  be  traced  by  the  currents  of  a  river  entering  a  lake  of 


224 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OE  OllX-AMEXT. 


DECORATION. 


tlie  shape  of  the  leaf,  at  the  end  where  the  stalk  is,  and  passing 
out  at  its  point.  Circular  curves,  on  the  contrary,  arc  always, 
I  think,  curves  of  limitation  or  support  5  that  is  to  say,  curves 
of  perfect  rest.  The  cylindrical  curve  round  the  stem  of  a 
plant  binds  its  fibres  together ;  while  the  ascent  of  the  stem  is 
in  lines  of  various  curvature :  so  the  curve  of  the  horizon  and 
of  the  apparent  heaven,  of  the  rainbow,  etc. :  and  though  the 
reader  might  imagine  that  the  circular  orbit  of  any  moviinj- 
body,  or  the  curve  described  by  a  sling,  was  a  curve  of  motion, 
he  slioidd  observe  that  the  circular  character  is  given  to  the 
curve  not  by  the  motion,  but  by  the  confinement :  the  circle  is 
the  consequence  not  of  the  energy  of  the  body,  but  of  its  being 
forbidden  to  leave  the  centre ;  and  whenever  the  whirling  or 
circular  motion  can  be  fully  impressed  on  it  we  obtain  instant 
balance  and  rest  with  respect  to  the  centre  of  the  circle. 

Jlence  the  peculiar  fitness  of  the  circular  curve  as  a  sign  of 
rest,  and  security  of  support,  in  arches ;  while  the  other  curves, 
belonging  especially  to  action,  are  to  be  used  in  the  more  active 
architectural  features — the  hand  and  foot  (the  capital  and  base), 
and  in  all  minor  ornaments ;  more  freely  in  proportion  to  their 
indejiendence  of  structural  conditions. 

§  XXI.  We  need  not,  however,  hope  to  be  able  to  imitate, 
in  general  work,  any  of  the  subtly  combined  curvatures  of 
nature’s  highest  designing:  on  the  contrary,  their  extreme 
refinement  renders  them  unfit  for  coarse  service  or  material. 
Lines  which  are  lovely  in  the  pearly  film  of  the  L^autilus  shell, 
are  lost  in  the  grey  roughness  of  stone ;  and  those  vdiich  are 
sublime  in  the  blue  of  far  away  hills,  are  weak  in  the  substance 
of  incumbent  marble.  Of  all  the  graceful  lines  assembled  on 
Plate  we  shall  do  well  to  be  content  with  two  of  the  sim¬ 
plest.  "VV  e  shall  take  one  mountain  line  (^  ^  and  one  leaf  line 
{u  w)^  or  rather  fragments  of  them,  for  we  shall  jierhaps  not 
want  them  all.  I  will  mark  off  from  w  the  little  bit  x  y,  and 
from  eg  the  piece  ef;  both  which  appear  to  me  likely  to  be 
ser\dceable :  and  if  hereafter  we  need  the  help  of  any  abstract 
lines,  we  will  ree  what  we  can  do  with  these  only. 

§  xxii.  2.  Forms  of  Earth  (Crystals).  It  may  be  asked  why 


DECORATION.  XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEXT.  225 

I  do  not  saj  rocks  or  mountains  ?  Simply,  because  tlie  nobility 
of  these  depends,  first,  on  their  scale,  and,  secondly,  on  acci¬ 
dent.  Their  scale  cannot  be  represented,  nor  their  accident 
systematised.  ISTo  sculptor  can  in  the  least  imitate  the  peculiar 
character  of  accidental  fracture :  he  can  obey  or  exhibit  the 
laws  of  nature,  but  he  cannot  copy  the  felicity  of  her  fancies, 
nor  follow  the  steps  of  her  fury.  The  very  glory  of  a  moun¬ 
tain  is  in  the  revolutions  which  raised  it  into  jiower,  and  the 
forces  which  are  striking  it  into  ruin.  But  we  want  no  cold 
and  careful  imitation  of  catastrophe  ;  no  calculated  mockery  of 
convulsion;  no  delicate  recommendation  of  ruin.  We  are  to 
follow  the  labor  of  ISTature,  but  not  her  disturbance ;  to  imitate 
what  she  has  deliberately  ordained,*  not  what  she  has  violently 
suffered,  or  strangely  permitted.  The  only  uses,  therefore,  of 
rock  form  vdiich  are  wise  in  the  architect,  are  its  actual  intro¬ 
duction  (by  leaving  untouched  such  blocks  as  are  meant  for 
rough  service),  and  that  noble  use  of  the  general  examples  of 
mountain  structure  of  which  I  have  often  heretofore  spoken. 
Imitations  of  rock  form  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  confined 
to  periods  of  degraded  feeling  and  to  architectural  toys  or 
])ieces  of  dramatic  effect, — the  Calvaries  and  holy  sepulchres  of 
Eomanism,  or  the  grottoes  and  fountains  of  English  gardens. 
They  were,  however,  not  unfrequent  in  mediieval  bas-reliefs ; 
very  curiously  and  elaborately  treated  by  Ghiberti  on  the  doors 
of  Florence,  and  in  religious  sculpture  necessarily  introduced 
wherever  the  life  of  the  anchorite  was  to  be  expressed.  They 
V  ere  rarely  introduced  as  of  ornamental  character,  but  for 
paiticular  service  and  expression  ;  we  shall  see  an  interesting 
example  in  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Yenice. 

§  XXIII.  But  against  crystalline  form,  which  is  the  com- 
jiletely  systematised  natural  structure  of  the  earth,  none  of 
these  objections  hold  good,  and,  accordingly,  it  is  an  endless 
element  of  decoration,  where  higher  conditions  of  stnicture 
cannot  be  represented.  The  four-sided  pyramid,  perhaps  the 

*  Thus  above,  I  adduced  for  the  architect’s  imitation  the  appointed  stories 
and  beds  of  the  ]\Iattcrliorn,  not  its  irregular  forms  of  crag  or  fissure. 


226  XX.  THE  MATEKIAL  OF  ORNAMEifT.  DECORATION. 

most  frequent  of  all  natural  crystals,  is  called  in  ai’chitecture 
a  dogtooth  ;  its  use  is  quite  limitless,  and  always  beautiful :  the 
cube  and  rhomb  are  almost  equally  frequent  in  chequers  and 
dentils  :  and  all  mouldings  of  the  middle  Gothic  are  little  more 
than  representations  of  the  caualiculated  crystals  of  the  beryl, 
and  such  other  minerals : 

§  XXIV.  Not  knowingly.  I  do  not  suppose  a  single  hint 
was  ever  actually  taken  from  mineral  form ;  not  even  by  the 
Arabs  in  their  stalactite  pendants  and  vaults  :  all  that  I  mean 
to  allege  is,  that  beautiful  ornament,  wherever  found,  or  how¬ 
ever  invented,  is  always  either  an  intentional  or  unintentional 
copy  of  some  constant  natural  form ;  and  that  in  this  particu¬ 
lar  instance,  the  pleasure  we  have  in  these  geometrical  figures 
of  our  own  invention,  is  dependent  for  all  its  acuteness  on  the 
natural  tendency  impressed  on  us  by  our  Creator  to  love  the 
forms  into  which  the  earth  He  gave  us  to  tread,  and  out  of 
which  He  formed  our  bodies,  knit  itself  as  it  was  separated 
from  the  deep. 

§  XXV.  3.  Forms  of  Water  (Waves). 

The  reasons  wdiich  prevent  rocks  from  being  used  for  orna¬ 
ment  repress  still  more  forcibly  the  portraiture  of  the  sea. 
Yet  the  constant  necessity  of  introducing  so^me  representation 
of  water  in  order  to  explain  the  scene  of  events,  or  as  a  sacred 
symbol,  has  forced  the  sculptors  of  all  ages  to  the  invention  of 
some  type  or  letter  for  it,  if  not  an  actual  imitation.  We 
find  every  degree  of  conventionalism  or  of  naturalism  in  these 
earlier  being,  for  the  most  part,  thoughtful  symbols ; 
the  latter,  awkward  attempts  at  portraiture.*  The  most  con- 
rentional  of  all  types  is  the  Egyptian  zigzag,  preserved  in  the 
astronomical  sign  of  Aquarius ;  but  every  nation,  with  any 
capacities  of  thought,  has  given,  in  some  of  its  work,  the  same 
great  definition  of  0])en  water,  as  “  an  undulatory  thing  with 
fish  in  it.”  I  say  o/)en  water,  because  inland  nations  have  a 
totally  different  conception  of  the  element.  Imagine  for  an  in¬ 
stant  the  different  feelings  of  an  husbandman  whose  hut  is  built 


*  Appendix  21,  “Ancient  Representations  of  Water.” 


DECORATION.  XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORNAMENT.  22? 

by  tliG  Illiine  oi’  the  Po,  and  wlio  sees,  day  by  day,  the  saiEe 
giddy  succession  of  silent  power,  the  same  opaque,  thick,  M'hii-h 
ing,  irresistible  labyrinth  of  rushing  lines  and  twisted  eddies, 
coiling  themselves  into  serpentine  race  by  the  reedy  banks,  in 
omne  volubilis  aevum, — and  the  image  of  the  sea  in  the  mind 
of  the  fisher  upon  the  rocks  of  Ithaca,  or  by  the  Straits  of 
Sicily,  who  sees  how,  day  by  day,  the  morning  winds  come 
coursing  to  the  shore,  every  breath  of  them  with  a  green  wave 
rearing  before  it;  clear,  crisji,  ringing,  merry-minded  waves, 
that  fall  over  and  over  each  othei’,  laughing  like  children  as 
they  near  the  beach,  and  at  last  clash  themselves  all  into  dust 
of  crystal  over  the  dazzling  sweeps  of  sand.  Fancy  the  differ¬ 
ence  of  the  image  of  water  in  those  two  minds,  and  then  com¬ 
pare  the  sculpture  of  the  coiling  eddies  of  the  Tigris  and  its 
reedy  branches  in  those  slabs  of  ISlineveh,  with  the  crested 
curls  of  the  Greek  sea  on  the  coins  of  Camerina  or  Tarentiim. 
But  both  agree  in  the  undulatory  lines,  either  of  the  currents 
or  the  surface,  and  in  the  introduction  of  fish  as  explanatory  of 
the  meaning  of  those  lines  (so  also  the  Egyptians  in  their 
frescoes,  with  most  elaborate  realisation  of  the  fish).  There  is 
a  very  curious  instance  on  a  Greek  mirror  in  the  British 
Museum,  representing  Oiion  on  the  Sea ;  and  multitudes  of 
examples  with  dolphins  on  the  Greek  vases :  the  type  is  pre¬ 
served  without  alteration  in  mediaeval  painting  and  sculpture. 
The  sea  in  that  Greek  mirror  (at  least  400  b.c.),  in  the  mosaics 
of  Torcello  and  St.  Mark’s,  on  the  font  of  St.  Frediano  at 
Lucca,  on  the  gate  of  the  fortress  of  St.  Michael’s  Mount  in 
Kormandy,  on  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  and  on  the  capitals  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  at  Venice  (under  Arion  on  his  Dolphin),  is  rep¬ 
resented  in  a  manner  alisolutely  identical.  Giotto,  in  the 
frescoes  of  Avignon,  has,  with  his  usual  strong  feeling  for 
naturalism,  given  the  liest  example  I  remember,  in  painting,  of 
the  unity  of  the  conv’entional  system  with  direct  imitation,  and 
that  both  in  sea  and  river;  giving  in  pure  blue  color  the 
coiling  whirlpool  of  the  stream,  and  the  curled  crest  of  the 
breaker.  But  in  all  early  sculptural  examples,  both  imitation, 
and  decorative  effect  are  subordinate  to  easily  understood  sym» 


228 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  OIIXA3IEXT. 


DECORATIOK. 


bolical  language ;  the  undulatoiy  lines  are  often  valuable  as  an 
enrichment  of  surface,  but  are  rarely  of  any  studied  graceful¬ 
ness.  One  of  the  best  examples  I  know  of  their  expressive 
arrangement  is  around  somo  figures  in  a  spandril  at  Bourges, 
representing  figures  sinking  in  deep  sea  (the  deluge) :  the  waved 
lines  yield  beueath  the  bodies  and  wildly  lave  the  edge  of  the 
moulding,  two  birds,  as  if  to  mark  the  reverse  of  all  order  of 
nature,  lowest  of  all  sunk  in  the  depth  of  them.  In  later  times 
of  debasement,  water  began  to  be  represented  with  its  waves, 
foam,  etc.,  as  on  the  Yendramin  tomb  at  Venice,  above  cited; 
but  even  there,  without  any  definite  ornamental  purjiose,  the 
sculptor  meant  partly  to  explain  a  story,  partly  to  display  dex¬ 
terity  of  chiselling,  but  not  to  produce  beautiful  forms  pleasant 
to  the  eye.  The  imitation  is  vapid  and  joyless,  and  it  has  often 
been  matter  of  surprise  to  me  that  sculptors,  so  fond  of  exhibit¬ 
ing  their  skill,  should  have  suffered  this  imitation  to  fall  so 
short,  and  remain  so  cold, — should  not  have  taken  more  jiains 
to  curl  the  waves  clearly,  to  edge  them  shaiYly,  and  to  ex¬ 
press,  by  drillholes  or  other  artifices,  the  character  of  foam. 
I  think  in  one  of  the  Antwerp  churches  something  of  this  kind 
is  done  in  wood,  but  in  general  it  is  rare. 

§  XXVI.  4.  Forms  of  Fire  (Flames  and  Bays).  If  neither 
the  sea  nor  the  rock  can  be  imagined,  still  less  the  devouring 
fire.  It  has  been  symbolised  by  radiation  both  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  for  the  most  part  in  the  latter  very  unsuccessfully. 
It  was  suggested  to  me,  not  long  ago,*  that  zigzag  decorations 
of  hloiman  architects  were  typical  of  light  springing  from  the 
half-set  orb  of  the  sun  ;  the  resemblance  to  the  ordinary  sun 
tjye  is  indeed  remarkable,  but  I  believe  accidental.  I  shall 
give  you,  in  my  large  plates,  two  curious  instances  of  radiation; 
in  biick  ornament  above  arches,  but  I  think  these  also  without 
any  very  luminous  intention.  The  imitations  of  fire  in  the 
torches  of  Cupids  and  genii,  and  burning  in  tops  of  urns,  which 
attest  and  represent  the  mejihitic  inspirations  of  the  seventeenth 
century  in  most  London  churches,  and  in  monuments  all  over 


*  By  the  friend  to  whom  I  owe  Appendix  21. 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  OKX^AMEXT. 


220 


civilised  Europe,  togetlier  witli  the  gilded  rajs  of  Eomanist 
altars,  maj  be  left  to  such  mercy  as  the  reader  is  inclined  to 
show  them. 

§  xxvii.  5.  Forms  of  Air  (Clouds).  Hardly  more  manage¬ 
able  than  flames,  and  of  no  ornamental  use,  their  majesty  being 
in  scale  and  color,  and  inimitable  in  mai'ble.  They  are  lightly 
traced  in  much  of  the  cinipie  cento  sculpture ;  veiy  boldly  and 
grandly  in  the  strange  Last  Judgment  in  the  porch  of  St. 
Maclou  at  Rouen,  described  in  the  “  Seven  Lamps.”  But  the 
most  elaborate  imitations  are  altogether  of  recent  date,  arranged 
in  concretions  like  flattened  sacks,  forty  or  fifty  feet,  above  the 
altars  of  continental  churches,  mixed  with  the  gilded  truncheons 
intended  for  sunbeams  above  alluded  to. 

§  XXVIII.  6.  Shells.  I  place  these  lowest  in  the  scale  (after 
inorganic  forms)  as  being  moulds  or  coats  of  organism ;  not 
themselves  organic.  The  sense  of  this,  and  of  their  being  mere 
emptiness  and  deserted  houses,  must  always  prevent  them,  how¬ 
ever  beautiful  in  their  lines,  from  being  largely  used  in  orna¬ 
mentation.  It  is  better  to  take  the  line  and  leave  the  shell. 
One  form,  indeed,  that  of  the  cockle,  has  been  in  all  ages  used 
as  the  decoration  of  half  domes,  which  were  named  conchas 
from  their  shell  form :  and  I  believe  the  wrinkled  lip  of  the 
cockle,  so  used,  to  have  been  the  oi’igin,  in  some  parts  of 
Europe  at  least,  of  the  exuberant  foliation  of  the  round  arch. 
The  scallop  also  is  a  pretty  radiant  form,  and  mingles  well  with 
other  symbols  when  it  is  needed.  The  crab  is  always  as  delight 
ful  as  a  grotesque,  for  here  we  suppose  the  beast  inside  the 
shell ;  and  he  sustains  his  part  in  a  lively  manner  among  the 
other  signs  of  the  zodiac,  with  the  scorpion  ;  or  scattered  upon 
cculptured  shores,  as  beside  the  Bronze  Boar  of  Florence,  We 
shall  find  him  in  a  basket  at  Venice,  at  the  base  of  one  of  the 
Piazzetta  shafts. 

§  XXIX.  Y.  Fish.  These,  as  beautiful  in  their  forms  as  they 
are  familiar  to  our  sight,  while  their  interest  is  increased  by 
their  symbolic  meaning,  are  of  great  value  as  material  of  orna¬ 
ment.  Love  of  the  picturesque  has  generally  induced  a  choice 
of  some  siq)})le  form  with  scaly  body  and  lashing  tail,  but  the 


230 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORX'AMEX'T. 


DXCOllATION. 


simplest  fisli  form  is  'argely  employed  in  medieeval  work.  We 
shall  find  the  plain  oval  body  and  sharp  head  of  the  Tlmnny 
constantly  at  Venice;  and  the  fish  used  in  the  expression  of 
sea-water,  or  water  generally,  are  always  plain  bodied  crea¬ 
tures  in  the  best  mediaeval  scnlptnre.  The  Greek  type  of  the 
dolphin,  however,  sometimes  hnt  slightly  exaggerated  from  the 
real  outlijie  of  the  Delphinus  Delphis,"'^"  is  one  of  the  most  pic¬ 
turesque  of  animal  forms ;  and  the  action  of  its  slow  revolving 
plunge  is  admirably  caught  upon  the  surface  sea  represented 
ill  Greek  vases. 

§  XXX.  8.  Reptiles  and  Insects.  The  forms  of  the  serpent 
and  lizard  exhibit  almost  every  element  of  beauty  and  horror 
in  strange  combination ;  the  horror,  which  in  an  imitation  is 
felt  only  as  a  pleasurable  excitement,  has  rendered  them  favor¬ 
ite  subjects  in  all  periods  of  art ;  and  the  unity  of  both  lizard 
and  serpent  in  the  ideal  dragvjn,  the  most  picturesque  and 
powerful  of  all  animal  forms,  and  of  peculiar  symbolical  inter¬ 
est  to  the  Christian  mind,  is  perhaps  the  principal  of  all  the 
materials  of  medioBval  picturesque  sculpture.  I3y  the  best 
sculptors  it  is  always  used  with  this  symbolic  meaning,  by  the 
cinque  cento  sculptors  as  an  ornament  merely.  The  best  ard 
most  natural  representations  of  mere  viper  or  snake  ai  e  to  be 
found  interlaced  among  their  confused  groups  of  meaningless 
objects.  The  real  power  and  horror  of  the  snake-head  hr.s, 
however,  been  rarely  reached.  I  shall  give  one  example  from 
Verona  of  the  twelfth  century. 

Other  less  powerful  reptile  forms  are  not  unfrequent. 
Small  frogs,  lizards,  and  snails  almost  always  enliven  the  foi-e- 
grounds  and  leafage  of  good  sculpture.  The  tortoise  is  less 
usually  employed  in  groups.  Beetles  are  chiefiy  mystic  and 
colossal.  Various  insects,  like  everything  else  in  tlie  world, 
occur  in  cincpie  cento  work  ;  grasshoppers  most  frequently. 

*  One  is  glad  to  hear  from  Cuvier,  that  thougli  dolphins  in  general  are 
“  les  plus  carnassiers,  et  proportion  gardee  avec  ieur  taille,  les  plus  cruels 
de  I’ordre;”  yet  that  in  the  Delphinus  Delphis,  ‘tout  I’organisation  de  son 
cerveau  an  nonce  (lu'ii  ne  doit  pas  etre  depourvu  de  la  docilite  qu’ils  (les 
anciens)  lui  attribuaieut.” 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OP  ORNAMEXT. 


231 


We  sliall  see  on  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice  an  interesting  use 
of  tlie  bee. 

§  XXXI.  9-  Branches  and  stems  of  Trees.  I  arrange  these 
Milder  a  separate  head  ;  because,  while  the  forms  of  leafage 
belong  to  all  architecture,  and  ought  to  be  employed  in  it 
always,  those  of  the  branch  and  stem  belong  to  a  peculiar 
imitative  and  luxuriant  architecture,  and  are  only  applicable 
at  times.  Pagan  sculptors  seem  to  have  perceived  tittle  beauty 
in  the  stems  of  trees  j  they  were  little  else  than  timber  to 
them  ;  and  they  preferred  the  rigid  and  monstrous  triglyph,  or 
the  fluted  column,  to  a  bi’oken  bough  or  gnarled  trunk.  But 
with  Christian  knowledge  came  a  peculiar  regard  for  the  forms 
of  vegetation,  from  the  root  upwards.  The  actual  representa¬ 
tion  of  the  entire  trees  required  in  many  scripture  subjects, — 
as  ill  the  most  frequent  of  Old  Testament  subjects,  the  Pall ; 
and  again  in  the  Drunkenness  of  Noah,  the  Garden  Agony, 
and  many  others,  familiarised  the  sculptors  of  bas-relief  to  the 
beauty  of  forms  before  unknown  ;  while  the  symbolical  name 
given  to  Christ  liy  the  Prophets,  “  the  Branch,”  and  the  fre¬ 
quent  expressions  referring  to  this  image  throughout  every 
scriptural  description  of  conversion,  gave  an  especial  interest 
to  the  Christian  mind  to  this  portion  of  vegetative  structure. 
For  some  time,  nevertheless,  the  sculpture  of  trees  was  con¬ 
fined  to  bas-relief  ;  but  it  at  last  affected  even  the  treatment  of 
the  main  shafts  in  Lombard  Gothic  buildings, — as  in  the 
western  facade  of  Genoa,  where  two  of  the  shafts  are  repre¬ 
sented  as  gnarled  trunks  :  and  as  bas-relief  itself  became  more 
boldly  introduced,  so  did  tree  sculpture,  until  we  find  the 
writhed  and  knotted  stems  of  the  vine  and  fig  used  for  angle 
shafts  on  the  Doge’s  Palace,  and  entire  oaks  and  appletrees 
forming,  roots  and  all,  the  principal  decorative  sculptures  of 
the  Scala  tombs  at  Yerona.  It  was  then  discovered  to  be  more 
easy  to  carve  branches  than  leaves  and,  much  hel])ed  by  the 
frequent  employment  in  later  Gothic  of  the  “Tree  of  Jesse,” 
for  traceries  and  other  purposes,  the  system  reached  full  de- 
velopement  in  a  perfect  thicket  of  twigs,  which  form  the  rich¬ 
est  portion  of  the  decoration  of  the  porches  of  Beauvais,  It 


232 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORXAMEMT. 


DECORATION 


liiid.  now  been  CcHiicd.  to  its  ricliost  oxtroiiic  ;  moii  'wcHriocl  of 
it  and  abandoned  it,  and  like  all  other  natural  and  beautiful 
things,  it  was  ostracised  by  the  mob  of  lienaissance  architects, 
but  it  is  interesting  to  observe  how  the  human  mind,  in  its 
acceptance  of  this  feature  of  ornament,  proceeded  from  the 
giound,  and  followed,  as  it  were,  the  natural  growth  of  the 
tree.  It  began  with  the  rude  and  solid  trunk,  as  at  Genoa ; 
then  the  branches  shot  out,  and  became  loaded  leaves  j  autumn 
came,  the  leaves  were  shed,  and  the  eye  was  directed  to  the 
extremities  of  the  delicate  branches ; — the  Renaissance  frosts 
came,  and  all  perished. 

§  Axxii.  10.  Foliage,  Flowers,  and  Fruit.  It  is  necessary 
to  consider  these  as  separated  from  the  stems ;  not  only,  as 
above  noted,  because  their  separate  use  marks  anotlier  school 
of  ai  chitecture,  but  because  they  are  tlie  only  organic  struc¬ 
tures  which  are  capabie  of  being  so  treated,  and  intended  to  be 
so,  without  strong  effort  of  imagination.  To  pull  animals  to 
pieces,  and  use  their  paws  for  feet  of  furniture,  or  their  heads 
foi  teiminations  of  rods  and  shafts,  is  'iisucdly  the  cliaiacteris- 
tic  of  feelmgless  schools  ;  the  greatest  men  like  their  animals 
whole.  The  head  may,  indeed,  be  so  managed  as  to  look 
emergent  from  the  stone,  rather  than  fastened  to  it ;  and 
vheiever  there  is  throughout  the  architecture  any  expression 
of  sternness  or  severity  (severity  in  its  literal  sense,  as  in 
Romans,  xi.  22),  such  divisions  of  the  living  form  may  be 
permitted  ;  still,  you  cannot  cut  an  animal  to  pieces  as  you  can 
gathei  a  flower  or  a  leaf.  These  were  intended  for  our  gather- 
ing,  and  for  our  constant  delight  t  wherever  men  exist  in  a 
peifectly  civilised  and  healthy  state,  they  have  vegetation 
around  them ;  wherever  their  state  approaches  that  of  inno¬ 
cence  or  perfectness,  it  approaches  that  of  Paradise,— if  is  a 
dressing  of  garden.  And,  therefore,  where  nothing  else  can 
be  used  for  ornament,  vegetation  may;  vegetation  in  any 
form,  however  fragmentary,  however  abstracted.  A  single 
leaf  laid  upon  the  angle  of  a  stone,  or  the  mere  form  or  fraine- 
work  of  the  leaf  drawn  upon  it,  or  the  mere  shadoiv  and  ghost 
of  the  leaf,— the  hollow  “  foil  ”  cut  out  of  it,— possesses  a 


DECORATION. 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORX^AMEJTT. 


233 


ciiaiTii  wliicli  iiotliing  else  can  replace  ;  a  cliarm  not  exciting, 
nor  demanding  laborious  tliouglit  or  sjnipatliy,  but  perfectly 
simple,  peaceful,  and  satisfying. 

§  XXXIII.  The  full  recognition  of  leaf  forms,  as  tlie  general 
source  of  subordinate  decoration,  is  one  of  the  chief  charac¬ 
teristics  of  Christian  architecture  ;  but  the  two  roots  of  leaf 
ornament  are  the  Greek  acanthus,  and  the  Egyptian  lotus.* 
The  dry  land  and  the  river  thus  each  contributed  their  part ; 
and  all  the  tiorid  capitals  of  the  richest  Northern  Gothic  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  arrowy  lines  of  the  severe  Lombardic 
capitals  on  the  other,  are  founded  on  these  two  gifts  of  the 
dust  of  Greece  and  the  waves  of  the  Nile.  The  leaf  which  is, 
I  believe,  called  the  Persepolitan  water-leaf,  is  to  be  associated 
with  the  lotus  flower  and  stem,  as  the  origin  of  our  noblest 
tyjies  of  simple  capital ;  and  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  florid 
leaves  of  the  dry  land  are  used  most  by  the  Northern  aichi- 
tects,  while  the  water  leaves  are  gathered  for  theii  oinain exits 
by  the  parched  builders  of  the  Desert. 

§  XXXIV.  Fi’uit  is,  fox'  the  most  pai’t,  mox’e  valuable  in  coloi 
than  fox’xn  j  nothing  is  mox’e  beautiful  as  a  subject  of  sculptuxe 
on  a  tree  ;  but,  gathered  and  put  in  baskets,  it  is  quite  possible 
to  have  too  much  of  it.  ATe  shall  find  it  so  used  vexy  dex- 
trously  on  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Yenice,  thex-e  with  a  meaning 
which  I’endei’ed  it  x’ight  necessary  5  but  the  Penaissance  axchi- 
tects  addx’ess  themselves  to  spectatox’s  who  care  fox  nothing 
but  feasting,  and  suppose  that  clustei’s  of  pears  and  pineapples 
ax’e  visions  of  which  their  imagination  can  never  weary,  and 
above  which  it  will  never  cai’e  to  rise.  I  am  no  advocate  for 
imagewox'ship,  as  I  believe  the  reader  will  elsewhere  siifti- 
ciently  find  ;  but  I  am  very  sure  that  the  Protestantism  of 
London  would  have  found  itself  quite  as  secure  in  a  cathedral 

*  Vide  Wilkinson,  vol.  v.,  woodcut  No.  478,  fig.  8.  The  tamarisk  ap¬ 
pears  afterwards  to  have  given  the  idea  of  a  subdivision  of  leaf  more  pure 
and  quaint  than  that  of  the  acanthus.  Of  late  our  botanists  have  discov¬ 
ered,  in  the  “Victoria  regia”  (supposing  its  blossom  reversed),  another 
strangely  beautiful  type  of  what  we  may  perhaps  hereafter  find  it  conve¬ 
nient  to  call  Lily  capitals. 


234 


XX.  THE  MATERIAL  OF  ORX-AMEXT. 


DECORATION. 


decorated  with  statues  of  good  men,  as  in  one  hung  round 
witli  bunches  of  ribston  pippins, 

§  XXXV.  11.  Birds.  The  perfect  and  simple  grace  of  bird 
form,  ill  general,  has  rendered  it  a  favorite  subject  with  early 
sculptors,  and  with  those  scliools  wliicii  loved  form  more  than 
action  ;  but  the  difficulty  of  expressing  action,  where  the  mus¬ 
cular  markings  are  concealed,  has  limited  the  use  of  it  in  later 
art.  Half  the  ornament,  at  least,  in  Byzantine  architecture, 
and  a  third  of  that  of  Lombardic,  is  composed  of  birds,  either 
jiecking  at  fruit  or  flowers,  or  standing  on  either  side  of  a 
flower  or  vase,  or  alone,  as  generally  the  symbolical  peacock. 
But  how  much  of  our  general  sense  of  grace  or  power  of 
motion,  of  serenity,  peacefulness,  and  spirituality,  we  owe  tc 
these  creatures,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  ;  tlieir  wings  eup- 
plying  us  with  almost  the  only  means  of  representation  of  spir¬ 
itual  motion  which  we  possess,  and  with  an  ornamental  form  of 
which  tile  eye  is  never  w^eary,  however  meaninglessly  or  end¬ 
lessly  repeated ;  whether  in  utter  isolation,  or  associated  with 
the  bodies  of  the  lizard,  the  horse,  the  lion,  or  the  man.  The 
heads  of  the  birds  of  prey  are  always  beautiful,  and  used  as  the 
richest  ornaments  in  all  ao-es. 

o 

§  XXXVI,  12.  Quadrupeds  and  Men.  Of  quadrupeds  the 
horse  has  received  an  elevation  into  the  primal  rank  of  sculp¬ 
tural  subject,  owing  to  his  association  with  men.  Tiie  full 
value  of  other  quadruped  forms  has  hardly  been  perceived,  or 
voiked  foi,  in  late  sculpture  5  and  the  want  of  science  is  more 
felt  in  these  subjects  than  in  any  other  branches  of  early  work. 
The  gieatest  richness  of  quadruped  ornament  is  found  in  the 
hunting  scu]2)ture  of  the  Lombards  |  but  rudely  treated  (the 
most  noble  examples  of  treatment  being  the  lions  of  Egypt, 
the  Hinevite  bulls,  and  the  mediagval  griffins).  Quadrujieds 
of  course  form  the  noblest  subjects  of  ornament  next  to  the 
human  form  ;  this  latter,  the  chief  subject  of  sculpture,  being 
sometimes  the  end  of  architecture  rather  than  its  decoration. 

We  have  thus  comjileted  the  list  of  the  materials  of  ai*chi- 
tectural  decoration,  and  the  reader  may  be  assured  that  no 
efiort  has  ever  been  successful  to  draw  elements  of  beauty  from 


DECOUATION. 


XX.  THE  MATEUIAL  OF  OIIXAMEXT. 


235 


any  other  sources  than  these.  Such  an  effort  was  once  reso¬ 
lutely  made.  It  was  contrary  to  the  religion  of  the  Arab  to 
introduce  any  animal  form  into  his  ornament ;  hut  although 
all  the  radiance  of  color,  all  the  refinements  of  proportion,  and 
all  the  intricacies  of  geometrical  design  were  open  to  him,  he 
could  not  produce  any  noble  work  without  an  abstraction  of 
the  forms  of  leafage,  to  be  used  in  his  capitals,  and  made  the 
ground  plan  of  his  chased  ornament.  But  I  have  above  noted 
that  coloring  is  an  entirely  distinct  and  independent  art ;  and 
in  the  “  Seven  Lamps”  we  saw  that  this  art  had  most  power 
when  practised  in  arrangements  of  simple  geometrical  form  : 
the  Arab,  therefore,  lay  under  no  disadvantage  in  coloring, 
and  he  had  all  the  noble  elements  of  constructive  and  propor¬ 
tional  beauty  at  his  command  i  he  might  not  imitate  the  sea- 
shell,  but  he  could  build  the  dome.  The  imitation  of  radiance 
by  the  variegated  voussoir,  the  expression  of  the  sweep  of  the 
desert  by  the  barred  red  lines  upon  the  wall,  the  starred  in- 
shedding  of  light  through  his  vaulted  roof,  and  all  the  endless 
fantasy  of  abstract  line,*  were  still  in  the  power  of  his  ardent 
and  fantastic  spirit.  Much  he  achieved  ;  and  yet  in  the  effort 
of  his  overtaxed  invention,  restrained  from  its  proper  food,  he 
made  his  architecture  a  glittering  .vacillation  of  undisciplined 
enchantment,  and  left  the  lustre  of  its  edifices  to  wither  like  a 
startling  dream,  whose  beauty  we  may  indeed  feel,  and  whose 
instruction  we  may  receive,  but  must  smile  at  its  inconsistency, 
and  mourn  over  its  evanescence. 


*  Appendix  23,  “  Arabian  Ornamentation.” 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


TEEATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 

§  I.  We  now  know  where  we  are  to  look  for  subjects  of 
decoration.  The  next  question  is,  as  the  reader  must  remem¬ 
ber,  how  to  treat  or  express  these  subjects. 

There  are  evidently  two  branches  of  treatment :  the  first 
being  the  ex23ression,  or  renderiog  to  the  eye  and  mind,  of  the 
thing  itself ;  and  the  second,  the  arrangement  of  the  thing  so 
exj^ressed  :  both  of  these  being  quite  distinct  from  the  jdacing 
of  the  ornament  in  proper  parts  of  the  building.  For  instance, 
supjDose  we  take  a  vine-leaf  for  our  subject.  The  first  ques¬ 
tion  is,  how  to  cut  the  vine-leaf  ?  Shall  we  cut  its  ribs  and 
notches  on  the  edge,  or  only  its  general  outline  ?  and  so  on. 
Then,  how  to  arrange  the  vine-leaves  when  we  have  them  ; 
whether  symmetrically,  or  at  random  ;  or  unsymmetrically, 
yet  within  certain  limits  ?  All  these  I  call  questions  of  treat¬ 
ment.  Then,  whether  the  vine-leaves  so  arranged  are  to  be 
set  on  the  capital  of  a  j^illar  or  on  its  shaft,  I  call  a  question  of 
j)lace. 

§  II.  So,  then,  the  questions  of  mere  treatment  are  twofold, 
how  to  express,  and  how  to  arrange.  And  exjiression  is  to 
the  mind  or  the  sight.  Therefore,  the  inquiry  becomes  really 
threefold  : — 

1.  How  ornament  is  to  be  exjiressed  with  reference  to  the 
mind. 

2.  How  ornament  is  to  be  arranged  with  reference  to  the 
sirfit. 

O 

3.  How  ornament  is  to  be  arranged  with  reference  to  both. 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OE  ORNAMENT. 


237 


§  III.  (1.)  How  is  ornament  to  be  treated  witli  rererence  to 
the  mind  ? 

If,  to  produce  a  good  or  beautiful  ornament,  it  were  only 
necessary  to  produce  a  perfect  piece  of  sculpture,  and  if  a  well 
cut  group  of  flowers  or  animals  were  indeed  an  ornament 
wlierexer  it  might  be  placed,  the  work  of  the  architect  would 
be  comparatively  easy.  Sculpture  and  architecture  would 
become  separate  arts ;  and  the  architect  would  order  so  many 
pieces  of  such  subject  and  size  as  he  needed,  without  troubling 
himself  with  any  questions  but  those  of  disposition  and  propor¬ 
tion.  But  this  is  not  so.  No  perfect  piece  either  of  painting 
or  sculpture  is  an  architectural  ornament  at  all,  except  in  that 
vague  sense  in  which  any  beautiful  thing  is  said  to  ornament 
the  place  it  is  in.  Thus  we  say  that  pictures  ornament  a  room ; 
but  we  should  not  thank  an  architect  who  told  us  that  his 
design,  to  be  complete,  required  a  Titian  to  be  put  in  one  cor¬ 
ner  of  it,  and  a  Yelasquez  in  the  other;  and  it  is  just  as 
unreasonable  to  call  perfect  sculpture,  niched  in,  or  encrusted 
on  a  building,  a  portion  of  the  ornament  of  that  building,  as  it 
would  be  to  hang  pictures  by  the  way  of  ornament  on  the 
outside  of  it.  It  is  very  possible  that  the  sculptured  work 
may  be  harmoniously  associated  with  the  building,  or  the  build¬ 
ing  executed  with  reference  to  it ;  but  in  this  latter  case  the 
architecture  is  subordinate  to  the  sculpture,  as  in  the  Medicean 
chapel,  and  I  believe  also  in  the  Parthenon.  And  so  far  from 
the  perfection  of  the  work  conducing  to  its  ornamental  purpose, 
we  may  say,  with  entire  security,  that  its  perfection,  in  some 
degree,  unfits  it  for  its  purpose,  and  that  no  absolutely  com¬ 
plete  sculpture  can  be  decoratively  right.  We  have  a  familiar 
instance  in  the  flower-work  of  St.  Paul’s,  which  is  probably,  in 
the  abstract,  as  perfect  flower  sculpture  as  could  be  produced 
at  the  time ;  and  which  is  just  as  rational  an  ornament  of  the 
building  as  so  many  valuable  Yanlluysums,  framed  and  glazed 
and  hung  up  over  each  window. 

§  IV.  The  especial  condition  of  true  ornament  is,  that  it  be 
beautiful  in  its  place,  and  nowhere  else,  and  that  it  aid  the  effect 
of  every  portion  of  the  building  over  which  it  has  influence ; 


238 


XXT.  TREAT.MEX^T  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


DKCOKATTON. 


tliat  it  does  not,  by  its  ricliness,  make  other  parts  bald,  or,  by 
its  delicacy,  make  other  parts  coarse.  Every  one  of  its  quali¬ 
ties  has  reference  to  its  place  and  use :  and  it  is  fitted  for  its 
service  lij  what  would  he  faults  and  deficiencies  if  it  had  no 
esjpecial  duty.  Ornament,  the  servant,  is  often  formal,  where 
sculpture,  the  master,  would  have  been  free ;  the  servant  is 
often  silent  where  the  master  would  have  been  eloquent  j  or 
hurried,  where  the  master  would  have  been  serene. 

§  V.  How  far  this  subordination  is  in  different  situations  to 
be  expressed,  or  how  far  it  may  be  surrendered,  and  ornament, 
the  servant,  be  2)ermitted  to  have  independent  will ;  and  by 
what  means  the  subordination  is  best  to  be  expressed  when  it 
is  required,  are  by  far  the  most  difficult  questions  I  have  ever 
tried  to  work  out  respecting  any  branch  of  art ;  for,  in  many 
of  the  examples  to  which  I  look  as  authoritative  in  their  majesty 
of  effect,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  say  whether  the  abstraction 
or  inq^erfcction  of  the  sculpture  was  owing  to  the  choice,  or  the 
incapacity  of  the  workman ;  and  if  to  the  latter,  how  far  the 
result  of  fortunate  incapacity  can  be  imitated  by  prudent  self- 
restraint.  The  reader,  I  think,  will  understand  this  at  once  by 
considering  the  effect  of  the  illuminations  of  an  old  missal.  In 
their  bold  rejection  of  all  principles  of  perspective,  light  and 
shade,  and  drawing,  they  are  infinitely  more  ornamental  to  the 
page,  owing  to  the  vivid  opposition  of  their  bright  colors  and 
quaint  lines,  than  if  they  had  been  drawn  by  Da  Yinci  himself : 
and  so  the  Arena  chapel  is  far  more  brightly  decorated  l)y  the 
archaic  frescoes  of  Giotti,  than  the  Stanze  of  the  Yatican  are 
by  those  of  Kafifaelle.  But  how  far  it  is  possible  to  recur  to 
such  archaicism,  or  to  make  up  for  it  by  any  voluntary  aban¬ 
donment  of  power,  I  cannot  as  yet  venture  in  any  wise  to 
determine. 

§  VI.  So,  on  the  other  hand,  in  many  instances  of  finished 
work  in  which  I  find  most  to  regret  or  to  reprobate,  I  can  hardly 
distinguish  what  is  erroneous  in  principle  from  what  is  vulgar 
in  execution.  For  instance,  in  most  Bomanesque  churches  of 
Italy,  the  porches  are  guarded  by  gigantic  animals,  lions  or 
griffins,  of  admirable  severity  of  design  ,*  yet,  in  many  cases. 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


239 


of  so  rade  workmansliip,  that  it  can  hardly  be  determined  how 
nmch  of  this  severity  was  intentional, — how  much  involuntary  : 
in  the  cathedral  of  Genoa  two  modern  lions  have,  in  imitation 
of  this  ancient  custom,  been  placed  on  the  steps  of  its  west 
front ;  and  the  Italian  sculptor,  thinking  himself  a  marvellous 
great  man  because  he  knew  what  lions  were  really  like,  has 
copied  them,  in  the  menagerie,  with  great  success,  and  pro¬ 
duced  two  hairy  and  well-whiskered  beasts,  as  like  to  real  lions 
as  he  could  possibly  cut  them.  One  wdshes  them  back  in  the 
menagerie  for  his  pains ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  far 
the  offence  of  their  presence  is  owing  to  the  mere  stupidity 
and  vulgarity  of  the  sculpture,  and  how  far  we  might  have 
been  delighted  with  a  realisation,  carried  to  nearly  the  same 
length  by  Ghiberti  or  Michael  Angelo.  (I  say  nearly^  because 
neither  Ghiberti  nor  Michael  Angelo  would  ever  have 
attempted,  or  permitted,  entire  realisation,  even  in  indepen¬ 
dent  sculpture.) 

§  VII.  In  spite  of  these  embarrassments,  however,  some  few 
certainties  may  be  marked  in  the  treatment  of  past  architec¬ 
ture,  and  secure  conclusions  deduced  for  future  practice. 
There  is  first,  for  instance,  the  assuredly  intended  and  resolute 
abstraction  of  the  Ninevite  and  Egyptian  sculptors.  The  men 
who  cut  those  granite  lions  in  the  Egyptian  room  of  the  Brit¬ 
ish  Museum,  and  who  carved  the  calm  faces  of  those  Ninevite 
kings,  knew  much  more,  both  of  lions  and  kings,  than  they 
chose  to  express.  Then  there  is  the  Greek  system,  in  which 
the  human  sculpture  is  perfect,  the  architecture  and  animal 
sculpture  is  subordinate  to  it,  and  the  architectural  ornament 
severely  subordinated  to  this  again,  so  as  to  be  composed  of 
little  more  than  abstract  lines  :  and,  finally,  there  is  the  pecul¬ 
iarly  medisBval  system,  in  which-  the  inferior  details  are  carried 
to  as  great  or  greater  imitative  perfection  as  the  higher  sculp¬ 
ture  ;  and  the  subordination  is  cliiefiy  effected  by  symmetries  of 
arrangement,  and  quaintnesses  of  treatment,  respecting  which 
it  is  ciitficult  to  say  how  far  they  resulted  from  intention,  and 
how  far  from  incapacity. 

§  VIII.  ISiow  of  these  systems,  the  Ninevite  and  Egyptian 


240 


XXI.  TKEATMENT  OE  OEXAiFENT. 


DECORATION, 


are  altogether  opposed  to  modern  habits  of  thought  an&  action ; 
they  are  sculptures  evidently  executed  under  absolute  autliorb 
ties,  physical  and  mental,  such  as  cannot  at  present  exist.  The 
Greek  system  presupposes  the  possession  of  a  Phidias;  it  is 
ridiculous  to  talk  of  building  in  the  Greek  manner;  you  may 
build  a  Greek  shell  or  box,  such  as  the  Greek  intended  to  con¬ 
tain  sculpture,  but  you  have  not  the  sculpture  to  put  in  it. 
Find  your  Phidias  first,  and  your  new  Phidias  will  very 
soon  settle  all  your  architectural  difficulties  in  very  unexpected 
ways  indeed  ;  but  until  you  find  him,  do  not  think  yourselves 
architects  while  you  go  on  copying  those  poor  subordinations, 
and  secondary  and  tertiary  orders  of  ornament,  which  the  Greek 
put  on  the  shell  of  his  sculpture.  Some  of  them,  beads,  and 
dentils,  and  such  like,  are  as  good  as  they  can  be  for  their 
work,  and  you  may  use  them  for  subordinate  work  still ;  but 
they  are  nothing  to  be  proud  of,  especially  when  you  did  not 
invent  them  :  and  others  of  them  are  mistakes  and  imperti¬ 
nences  in  the  Greek  himself,  such  as  his  so-called  honeysuckle 
ornaments  and  others,  in  which  there  is  a  starched  and  dull 
suggestion  of  vegetable  form,  and  yet  no  i  v.al  resemblance  nor 
life,  for  the  conditions  of  them  result  from  his  own  conceit  of 
himself,  and  ignorance  of  the  physical  sciences,  and  want  of 
relish  for  common  nature,  and  vain  fancy  that  he  could  im¬ 
prove  everything  he  touched,  and  that  he  honored  it  by  taking 
it  into  his  service :  by  freedom  from  which  conceits  the  true 
Christian  architecture  is  distinguished — not  by  points  to  its 
arches. 

§  IX.  There  remains,  therefore,  only  the  mediieval  system, 
in  which  I  think,  generally,  more  completion  is  pennitted 
(though  this  often  because  more  was  possible)  in  the  inferior 
than  in  the  higher  portions  of  ornamental  subject.  Leaves, 
and  birds,  and  lizards  are  realised,  or  nearly  so  ;  men  and 
quadrupeds  formalised.  For  observe,  the  smaller  and  inferior 
subject  remains  subordinate,  however  richly  finished  ;  but  the 
human  sculpture  can  only  be  subordinate  by  being  imperfect. 
Tlie  realisation  is,  however,  in  all  cases,  dangerous  except 


MU 


T  film  bu  I )  m I' , 


*> 


1 


.  ;.rj 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMEXT  OF  ORX^AMEXT. 


241 


iincler  most  skilful  management,  and  the  abstraction,  if  true 
and  noble,  is  almost  always  more  delightful.* 

§  X.  AYliat,  then,  is  noble  abstraction  ?  It  is  taking  first 
the  essential  elements  of  the  thing  to  be  represented,  then  the 
rest  in  the  order  of  imjiortance  (so  that  wherever  we  pause  we 
shall  always  have  obtained  more  than  we  leave  behind),  and 
using  any  expedient  to  impress  what  we  want  upon  the  mind, 
without  caring  about  the  mere  literal  accuracy  of  such  expe¬ 
dient.  Suppose,  for  instance,  we  have  to  represent  a  peacock  : 
now  a  peacock  has  a  graceful  neck,  so  has  a  swan  ;  it  has  a 
liigh  crest,  so  has  a  cockatoo  ;  it  has  a  long  tail,  so  has  a  bird 
of  Paradise.  But  the  whole  spirit  and  power  of  peacock  is  in 
those  eyes  of  the  tail.  It  is  true,  the  argus  pheasant,  and  one 
or  two  more  birds,  have  something  like  them,  but  nothing  fo- 
a  moment  comparable  to  them  in  brilliancy  :  express  the 
gleaming  of  the  blue  eyes  through  the  plumage,  and  you  have 
nearly  all  you  want  of  peacock,  but  without  this,  nothing ;  and 
yet  those  eyes  are  not  in  relief ;  a  rigidly  ti'ue  sculpture  of  a 
peacock’s  form  could  have  no  eyes, — nothing  but  feathers. 
Ilere,  then,  enters  the  stratagem  of  sculpture  ;  you  must  cut 
the  eyes  in  relief,  somehow  or  another;  see  how  it  is  done  in 
the  peacock  on  the  opposite  page ;  it  is  so  done  by  nearly  all 
the  Byzantine  sculptors :  this  particular  peacock  is  meant  to  be 
seen  at  some  distance  (how  far  off  I  know  not,  for  it  is  an 
interpolation  in  the  building  where  it  occurs,  of  which  more 
hereafter),  but  at  all  events  at  a  distance  of  thirty  or  forty 
feet ;  I  have  put  it  close  to  you  that  you  may  see  jilainly  the 
rude  rings  and  rods  udiich  stand  for  the  eyes  and  quills,  but  at 
the  just  distance  their  effect  is  perfect. 

§  XI.  And  the  simplicity  of  the  means  here  employed  may 
help  us,  both  to  some  clear  understanding  of  the  spirit  of 
lYinevite  and  Egyptian  work,  and  to  some  jierception  of  the 
kind  of  enfantillage  or  archaicism  to  which  it  may  be  possible, 
ev’^en  in  days  of  advanced  science,  legitimately  to  return.  The 


*  Vide  “  Seven  Lamps,”  Chap.  IV.  §  34. 


243 


XXI.  TREATMEX^T  OF  ORXAMEX^T. 


DECORATION. 


architect  has  no  riglit,  as  we  said  before,  to  require  of  us  a  pic¬ 
ture  of  Titian’s  in  order  to  complete  his  design  ;  neither  has 
he  the  right  to  calculate  on  the  co-operation  of  perfect  sculp¬ 
tors,  in  subordinate  capacities.  Far  from  this  ;  his  business  is 
to  dispense  with  such  aid  altogether,  and  to  devise  such  a 
system  of  ornament  as  shall  be  capable  of  execution  by  unin 
ventive  and  even  unintelligent  workmen  ;  for  supposing  that 
he  required  noble  sculpture  for  his  ornament,  how  far  would 
this  at  once  limit  the  number  and  the  scale  of  possible  build¬ 
ings  ?  Architecture  is  the  work  of  nations ;  but  we  cannot 
have  nations  of  great  sculptors.  Every  house  in  every  street 
of  every  city  ought  to  be  good  architecture,  but  we  cannot 
have  Flaxman  or  Thorwaldsen  at  work  upon  it :  nor,  even  if 
we  chose  only  to  devote  ourselves  to  our  public  buildings, 
could  the  mass  and  majesty  of  them  be  great,  if  we  required 
all  to  be  executed  by  great  men ;  greatness  is  not  to  be  had  in 
the  required  quantity.  Giotto  may  design  a  campanile,  but  he 
cannot  carve  it ;  he  can  only  carve  one  or  two  of  the  bas-reliefs 
at  the  base  of  it.  And  with  every  increase  of  your  fastidious¬ 
ness  in  the  execution  of  your  ornament,  you  diminish  the  pos¬ 
sible  number  and  grandeur  of  your  buildings.  Do  not  think 
you  can  educate  your  workmen,  or  that  the  demand  for  perfec¬ 
tion  will  increase  the  supply  :  educated  imbecility  and  tinessed 
foolishness  are  tlie  worst  of  all  imbecilities  and  foolishnesses  ; 
and  there  is  no  free-trade  measure,  which  will  ever  lower  the 
price  of  brains, — there  is  no  California  of  common  sense. 
Exactly  in  the  degree  in  which  you  require  your  decoration  to 
be  wrought  by  thoughtful  men,  you  diminish  the  extent  and 
number  of  architectural  works.  Your  business  as  an  architect, 
is  to  calculate  only  on  the  co-operation  of  inferior  men,  to  think 
for  them,  and  to  indicate  for  them  such  expressions  ot  your 
thoughts  as  tlie  weakest  capacity  can  comprehend  and  the 
feeblest  hand  can  execute.  This  is  the  definition  of  the  purest 
architectural  abstractions.  They  are  the  deep  and  laborious 
thoughts  of  the  greatest  men,  put  into  such  easy  letters  that 
they  can  be  written  by  the  simplest.  Theij  are  expressions  of 
the  mind  of  manhood  hy  the  hands  of  childhood. 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TEEATMEXT  OF  OEXAMEXT. 


243 


§  XII.  And  now  suppose  one  of  tliose  old  IN^inevite  or 
Egyptian  builders,  with  a  couple  of  thousand  men — mud-bred, 
onion-eating  creatures — under  him,  to  be  set  to  work,  like  so 
many  ants,  on  his  temple  sculptures.  What  is  he  to  do  with 
them  ?  lie  can  put  them  through  a  granitic  exercise  of  cur¬ 
rent  hand  ;  he  can  teach  them  all  how  to  curl  hair  thoroughly 
into  croche-coeurs,  as  you  teach  a  bench  of  school-boys  how 
to  shape  pothooks  ;  he  can  teach  tliem  all  how  to  draw  long 
eyes  and  straight  noses,  and  how  to  copy  accurately  certain 
well-defined  lines.  Then  he  fits  his  own  g-reat  desiofii  to  their 
capacities ;  he  takes  out  of  king,  or  lion,  or  god,  as  much  as 
was  expressible  by  croche-cceurs  and  granitic  potliooks ;  he 
throws  this  into  noble  forms  of  his  own  imagining,  and  having 
mapped  out  their  lines  so  that  there  can  be  no  possibility  of 
error,  sets  his  two  thousand  men  to  work  upon  them,  with  a 
will,  and  so  many  onions  a  day. 

§  xiii.  I  said  those  times  cannot  now  return.  We  have, 
with  Christianity,  recognised  the  individual  value  of  every 
soul ;  and  there  is  no  intelligence  so  feeble  but  that  its  single 
ray  may  in  some  sort  contribute  to  the  general  light.  This  is 
the  glory  of  Gothic  architecture,  that  every  jot  and  tittle, 
every  point  and  niche  of  it,  atfords  room,  fuel,  and  focus  for 
individual  fire.  But  you  cease  to  acknowledge  this,  and  you 
refuse  to  accept  the  help  of  the  lesser  mind,  if  you  require  the 
work  to  be  all  executed  in  a  great  manner.  Your  business  is 
to  think  out  all  of  it  nobly,  to  dictate  the  expression  of  it  as 
far  as  your  dictation  can  assist  the  less  elevated  intelligence : 
then  to  leave  this,  aided  and  taught  as  far  as  may  be,  to  its 
own  simple  act  and  effort ;  and  to  rejoice  in  its  simplicity  if 
not  in  its  power,  and  in  its  vitality  if  not  in  its  science. 

§  XIV.  We  have,  then,  three  orders  of  ornament,  classed 
according  to  the  degrees  of  correspondence  of  the  executive 
and  conceptive  minds.  We  have  the  servile  ornament,  in 
vdiicli  the  executive  is  absolutely  subjected  to  the  inventive, — 
the  ornament  of  the  great  Eastern  nations,  more  especially 
Ilamite,  and  all  jire-Christian,  j-et  thoroughly  noble  in  its  sub¬ 
missiveness.  Then  we  have  the  mediaeval  system,  in  which 


244 


XXI.  TKEATMEXT  OE  ORNAMEXT. 


DECOKATION. 


the  mind  of  the  inferior  workman  is  recognised,  and  has  full 
room  for  action,  but  is  guided  and  ennobled  by  the  ruling 
mind.  This  is  the  truly  Christian  and  only  perfect  system. 
Finally,  we  have  ornaments  expressing  the  endeavor  to  equal¬ 
ise  the  executive  and  inventive, — endeavor  which  is  Renais' 
sauce  and  revolutionary,  and  destructive  of  all  noble  architec¬ 
ture. 

§  XV.  Thus  far,  then,  of  the  incompleteness  or  simplicity 
of  execution  necessary  in  architectural  ornament,  as  referred 
to  the  mind.  Kext  we  have  to  consider  that  which  is  required 
when  it  is  referred  to  the  sight,  and  the  A^arious  modifications 
of  treatment  which  are  rendered  necessary  by  the  variation  of 
its  distance  from  the  eye.  I  say  necessary  :  not  merely  expe¬ 
dient  or  economical.  It  is  foolish  to  carve  what  is  to  be  seen 
forty  feet  off  with  the  delicacy  which  the  eye  demands  within 
two  yards ;  not  merely  because  siicli  delicacy  is  lost  in  the 
distance,  but  because  it  is  a  great  deal  Avorse  than  lost . — the 
delicate  Avork  has  actually  Averse  effect  in  the  distance  than 
rough  Avork.  This  is  a  fact  Avell  knoAvn  to  painters,  and,  for 
the  most  part,  acknoAvledged  by  the  critics  of  painters,  namely, 
that  there  is  a  certain  distance  for  Avhich  a  picture  is  painted  ; 
and  that  the  finish,  which  is  deliglitful  if  that  distance  be 
small,  is  actually  injurious  if  the  distance  be  great :  and,  more¬ 
over,  that  there  is  a  particular  method  of  handling  AA’hich  none 
but  consummate  artists  reach,  Avhich  has  its  effects  at  the  in¬ 
tended  distance,  and  is  altogether  hieroglyphical  and  unintelli¬ 
gible  at  any  other.  This,  I  say,  is  acknoAvledged  in  painting, 
but  it  is  not  practically  ackiioAvledged  in  architecture;  nor  un¬ 
til  my  attention  AA^as  especially  directed  to  it,  had  I  myself  any 
idea  of  tlie  care  Avith  which  this  great  question  Avas  studied  by 
the  mediaeval  architects.  On  my  first  careful  examination  of 
tlio  capitals  of  the  upperqircade  of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice, 
I  Avas  induced,  by  their  singular  inferiority  of  Avorkmanship, 
to  suppose  tiiem  posterior  to  those  of  the  loAver  arcade.  It 
AA’as  not  till  I  discovered  that  some  of  those  AA'hich  I  thought 
the  Avorst  above,  Avere  tlie  best  AAdien  seen  from  below,  that  I 
olitained  the  key  to  this  marvellous  system  of  adaptation  ;  a 


DECOKATION. 


XXI.  TKEATMEX’T  OF  ORFT AMENT. 


245 


systGin  wliicli  I  aftorwards  foinid  carried  out  in  every  building 
of  tlie  great  times  wliicli  I  liad  opportunity  of  examining. 

§  XVI.  There  are  two  distinct  modes  in  which  this  adapta¬ 
tion  is  effected.  In  the  first,  the  same  designs  which  are  deli¬ 
cately  worked  when  near  the  eye,  are  rudely  ent,  and  have  far 
fewer  details  when  they  are  removed  from  it.  In  this  method 
it  is  not  always  easy  to  distinguish  economy  from  skill,  or 
slovenliness  from  science.  But,  in  the  second  method,  a  dif¬ 
ferent  design  is  adopted,  composed  of  fewer  parts  and  of  sim- 
jffer  lines,  and  this  is  cut  with  exquisite  precision.  This  is  of 
course  the  higher  method,  and  the  more  satisfactory  proof  of 
purpose  ;  but  an  equal  degree  of  imperfection  is  found  in  both 
kinds  when  they  are  seen  close  |  in  the  first,  a  bald  execution 
of  a  perfect  design ;  the  second,  a  baldness  of  design  with 
perfect  execution.  And  in  these  very  imperfections  lies  the 

admirableness  of  the  ornament. 

§  xvii.  It  may  be  asked  whether,  in  advocating  this  adap¬ 
tation  to  the  distance  of  the  eye,  I  obey  my  adopted  rule  of 
observance  of  natural  law.  Are  not  all  natural  things,  it  maj 
be  asked,  as  lovely  near  as  far  away  ?  Nay,  not  so.  Look  at 
the  clouds,  and  v’atcli  the  delicate  sculpture  of  their  alabaster 
sides,  and  the  rounded  lustre  of  their  magnificent  rolling. 
Tliey  are  meant  to  he  beheld  far  away ;  they  were  shaped  for 
their  place,  high  above  your  bead  ;  approach  them,  and  they 
fuse  into  vague  mists,  or  whirl  away  in  fierce  fragments  of 
thunderous  vapor.  Look  at  the  crest  of  the  Alp,  fiom  the 
far-away  plains  over  which  its  light  is  cast,  whence  human 
souls  have  communion  with  it  by  their  myriads.  The  child 
looks  up  to  it  in  the  dawn,  and  the  husbandman  in  the  burden 
and  heat  of  the  day,  and  the  old  man  in  the  going  down  of  the 
sun,  and  it  is  to  them  all  as  the  celestial  city  on  the  world’s 
horizon  ;  dyed  with  the  depth  of  heaven,  and  clothed  with  the 
calm  of  eternity.  There  was  it  set,  for  holy  dominion,  by 
Him  who  marked  for  the  sun  his  journey,  and  bade  the  moon 
know  her  going  down.  It  was  built  for  its  place-  in  the  far-off 
sky ;  approach  it,  and  as  the  sound  of  the  voice  of  man  dies 
avvay  about  its  foundations^  and  the  tide  of  human  life,  shal- 


XXI.  TIIEATMEKT  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


DECOKATION. 


2AC, 

lowed  upon  tlie  vast  aerial  shore,  is  at  last  met  by  the  Eternal 
“  Here  shall  thy  waves  be  stayed,”  the  glory  of  its  aspect  fades 
into  blanched  fearfnlness  ;  its  purple  walls  are  rent  into  grisly 
rocks,  its  silver  fretwork  saddened  into  wasting  snow,  the 
storm-brands  of  ages  are  on  its  breast,  the  ashes  of  its  own 
ruin  lie  solemnly  on  its  white  raiment. 

Kor  in  such  instances  as  these  alone,  though  strangely 
enough,  the  discrepancy  between  apparent  and  actual  beauty  is 
greater  in  proportion  to  the  unapproachableness  of  the  object, 
is  the  law  observed.  For  every  distance  from  the  eye  there  is 
a  peculiar  kind  of  beauty,  or  a  different  system  of  lines  of 
form  ;  the  sight  of  that  beauty  is  i-eserved  for  that  distance, 
and  for  that  alone.  If  you  approach  nearer,  that  kind  of 
beauty  is  lost,  and  another  succeeds,  to  be  disorganised  and 
reduced  to  strange  and  incomprehensible  means  and  appliances 
in  its  turn.  If  you  desire  to  perceive  the  great  harmonies  of 
the  form  of  a  rocky  mountain,  you  must  not  ascend  upon  its 
sides.  All  is  there  disorder  and  accident,  or  seems  so ;  sudden 
starts  of  its  shattered  beds  hither  and  thither;  ugly  struggles 
of  unexpected  strength  from  under  the  ground  ;  fallen  frag¬ 
ments,  toppling  one  over  another  into  more  helpless  fall.  Ee- 
tire  from  it,  and,  as  your  eye  commands  it  more  and  more,  as 
you  see  the  ruined  mountain  world  with  a  wider  glance,  be¬ 
hold !  dim  sympathies  begin  to  busy  themselves  in  the  dis¬ 
jointed  mass ;  line  binds  itself  into  stealthy  fellowship  with 
line  ;  group  by  group,  the  heljiless  fragments  gather  themselves 
into  ordered  companies ;  new  captains  of  hosts  and  masses  of 
battalions  become  \  isible,  one  by  one,  and  far  away  answers 
of  foot  to  foot,  and  of  bone  to  bone,  until  the  powerless  chaos 
is  seen  risen  up  with  girded  loins,  and  not  one  piece  of  all  the 
unregarded  heap  could  now  be  spared  from  the  mystic  whole. 

§  XVIII.  How  it  is  indeed  true  that  where  nature  loses  one 
kind  of  beauty,  as  you  apiiroach  it,  she  substitutes  another; 
this  is  worthy  of  her  infinite  power  :  and,  as  we  shall  see,  art 
can  sometimes  follow  her  even  in  doing  this ;  but  all  I  insist 
upon  at  present  is,  that  the  several  effects  of  nature  are  each 
worked  with  means  refeiTed  to  a  particular  distance,  and  pro- 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


247 


diicing  tlioir  effect  at  tliat  distance  only.  Take  a  singular  and 
marked  instance :  When  the  sun  rises  behind  a  ridge  of  pines, 
and  those  pines  are  seen  from  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  two, 
against  his  light,  the  whole  form  of  the  tree,  trunk,  branches, 
and  all,  becomes  one  frostwork  of  intensely  brilliant  silver, 
which  is  relieved  against  the  clear  sky  like  a  burning  fringe, 
for  some  distance  on  either  side  of  tlie  sun.*  I^ow  suppose 
that  a  person  who  had  never  seen  pines  w’ere,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  to  see  them  under  this  strange  aspect,  and,  reason¬ 
ing  as  to  the  means  by  which  such  effect  could  be  produced, 
laboriously  to  approach  the  eastern  ridge,  how  would  he  be 
amazed  to  find  that  the  fiery  spectres  had  been  produced  by 
trees  with  swarthy  and  grey  trunks,  and  dark  green  leaves ! 
We,  in  our  simplicity,  if  we  had  been  required  to  produce  such 
an  appearance,  should  have  built  up  trees  of  chased  silver,  with 
trunks  of  glass,  and  then  been  grievously  amazed  to  find  that, 
at  two  miles  off,  neither  silver  nor  glass  were  any  more  visible  , 
but  nature  knew  better,  and  prepared  for  her  fairy  work  with 
the  strong  branches  and  dark  leaves,  in  her  own  mysterious 

way. 

§  xrv.  IS’ow  this  is  exactly  what  you  have  to  do  with  your 
good  omament.  It  may  be  that  it  is  capable  of  being  ap¬ 
proached,  as  well  as  likely  to  be  seen  far  away,  and  then  it 
ought  to  have  microscopic  qualities,  as  the  pine  leaves  have, 
which  will  bear  approach.  But  your  calculation  of  its  pur¬ 
pose  is  for  a  glory  to  be  produced  at  a  given  distance ;  it  may 
be  here,  or  may  be  there,  but  it  is  a  distance ,  and  the 

excellence  of  the  ornament  depends  upon  its  fitting  that  dis- 

*  Shakspeare  and  Wordsworth  (I  think  they  only)  have  noticed  this, 
Shakspeare,  in  Richard  II.  : — 

“  But  when,  from  under  this  terrestrial  hall. 

He  fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines.” 

And  Wordsworth,  in  one  of  his  minor  poems,  on  leaving  Italy  : 

“  INIy  thoughts  become  bright  like  yon  edging  of  pines 
On  the  steep’s  lofty  verge — how  it  blackened  the  air! 

But,  touched  from  behind  by  the  sun,  it  now  shines 
With  threads  that  seem  part  of  his  own  silver  hair.” 


248 


XXI.  TKEATMEXT  OF  ORNAMEXT. 


DECORATION. 


tance,  and  being  seen  better  there  than  anywhere  else,  and 
having  a  particular  function  and  form  which  it  can  only  dis' 
charge  and  assume  there.  You  are  never  to  say  that  ornament 
has  great  merit  because  “  you  cannot  see  the  beauty  of  it 
here but,  it  has  great  merit  because  “  you  can  see  its  beauty 
here  onlyP  And  to  give  it  this  merit  is  just  about  as  difficult 
a  task  as  I  could  wmll  set  you.  I  have  above  noted  the  two 
ways  in  which  it  is  done  :  the  one,  being  merely  rough  cutting, 
may  be  passed  over ;  the  other,  which  is  scientific  alteration  of 
design,  falls,  itself,  into  two  great  branches,  Simplification  and 
Emphasis. 

A  word  or  two  is  necessary  on  each  of  these  heads. 

§  XX.  When  an  ornamental  work  is  intended  to  be  seen 
near,  if  its  composition  be  indeed  fine,  the  subdued  and  deli¬ 
cate  portions  of  the  design  lead  to,  and  unite,  the  energetic 
parts,  and  those  energetic  parts  form  with  the  rest  a  whole,  in 
which  their  own  immediate  relations  to  each  other  are  not  per¬ 
ceived.  Remove  this  design  to  a  distance,  and  the  connecting 
delicacies  vanish,  the  energies  alone  remain,  now  either  discon¬ 
nected  altogether,  or  assuming  with  each  other  new  relations, 
wliich,  not  having  been  intended  by  the  designer,  will  probably 
be  painful.  There  is  a  like,  and  a  more  palpable,  effect,  in  the 
retirement  of  a  band  of  music  in  which  the  instruments  are  of 
very  unequal  powers ;  the  fluting  and  fifeing  expire,  the  drum¬ 
ming  remains,  and  that  in  a  painful  arrangement,  as  demand- 
ine:  somethino;  which  is  unheard.  In  like  manner,  as  the 
designer  at  arm’s  length  removes  or  elevates  his  work,  fine 
gradations,  and  roundings,  and  incidents,  vanish,  and  a  totally 
unexpected  arrangement  is  established  between  the  remainder 
of  the  markings,  certainly  confused,  and  in  all  probability 
painful. 

§  XXI.  The  art  of  architectural  design  is  therefore,  first,  the 
preparation  for  this  beforehand,  the  rejection  of  all  the  delicate 
passages  as  worse  than  useless,  and  the  fixing  the  thought  upon 
the  arrano-ement  of  the  features  which  will  remain  visible  far 

O 

away.  Nor  does  this  always  imply  a  diminution  of  resource  ; 
for,  while  it  may  be  assumed  as  a  law  that  fine  modulation  of 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMEXT  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


249 


surface  in  liglit  becomes  quickly  invisible  as  tlie  object  retires, 
there  are  a  softness  and  mystery  given  to  the  harder  markings, 
which  enable  them  to  be  safely  used  as  media  of  expression. 
There  is  an  exquisite  example  of  this  use,  in  the  head  of  the 
Adam  of  the  Ducal  Palace.  It  is  only  at  the  height  of  17  or 
18  feet  above  the  eye ;  nevertheless,  the  sculptor  felt  it  was  no 
use  to  trouble  himself  about  drawing  the  corners  of  the  month, 
or  the  lines  of  the  lips,  delicately,  at  that  distance  ;  his  object 
has  been  to  mark  them  clearly,  and  to  prevent  accidental 
shadows  from  conceahng  them,  or  altering  their  expression. 
The  lips  are  cut  thin  and  sharp,  so  that  their  line  cannot  be 
mistaken,  and  a  good  deep  drill-hole  struck  into  the  angle  of 
the  mouth  ;  the  eye  is  anxious  and  questioni-ng,  and  one  is  sur¬ 
prised,  from  below,  to  perceive  a  kind  of  darkness  in  the  iris 
of  it,  neither  like  color,  nor  like  a  circular  furrow.  The  ex¬ 
pedient  can  only  be  discovered  by  ascending  to  the  level  of  the 
head;  it  is  one  which  would  have  been  quite  inadmissible 
except  in  distant  work,  six  drill-holes  cut  into  the  iris,  round  a 
central  one  for  the  pupil. 

§  XXII.  Py  just  calculation,  like  this,  of  the  means  at  oui 
disposal,  by  beautiful  arrangement  of  the  prominent  features, 
and  by  choice  of  different  subjects  for  different  places,  choos¬ 
ing  the  broadest  forms  for  the  farthest  distance,  it  is  possible 
to  give  the  impression,  not  only  of  perfection,  but  of  an 
exquisite  delicacy,  to  the  most  distant  ornament.  And  this  is 
the  true  sign  of  the  right  having  been  done,  and  the  utmost 
possible  pmver  attained  The  spectator  should  be  satisfied  to 
stay  in  his  place,  feeling  the  decoration,  wherever  it  may  be, 
equally  rich,  full,  and  lovely  :  not  desiring  to  climb  the  steeples 
in  order  to  examine  it,  but  sure  that  he  has  it  all,  wdiere  he  is. 
Perhaps  the  capitals  of  the  cathedral  of  Genoa  are  the  best 
instances  of  absolute  perfection  in  this  kind  :  seen  from  below, 
they  appear  as  rich  as  the  frosted  silver  of  the  Strada  degli 
Orefici ;  and  the  nearer  you  approach  them,  the  less  delicate 

they  seem. 

§  xxiii.  This  is,  however,  not  the  only  mode,  though  the 
best,  in  which  ornament  is  adapted  for  distance.  The  other 


.250 


XXI.  TREATMEX^T  OF  ORXTAMEXT. 


DECORATION. 


is  empliasis, — the  unnatural  insisting  uiion  explanatory  lines, 
where  the  subject  would  otherwise  become  unintelligible.  It 
is  to  be  remembered  that,  by  a  deep  and  narrow  incision,  an 
architect  has  the  power,  at  least  in  sunshine,  of  drawing  a 
black  line  on  stone,  just  as  vigorously  as  it  can  be  drawn  with 
chalk  on  grey  paper ;  and  that  he  may  thus,  wherever  and  in 
the  degree  that  he  chooses,  substitute  chalk  sketching  for 
sculpture.  They  are  curiously  mingled  by  the  Komans.  The 
bas-reliefs  of  the  Arc  d’Orange  are  small,  and  would  be  con¬ 
fused,  though  in  bold  relief,  if  they  depended  for  intelligibility 
on  the  relief  only;  but  each  figure  is  outlined  by  a  strong 
incision  at  its  edge  into  the  background,  and  all  the  ornaments 
on  the  armor  are  simply  drawn  with  incised  lines,  and  not  cut 
out  at  all.  A  similar  use  of  lines  is  made  by  the  Grothic  nations 
in  all  their  early  sculpture,  and  with  delicious  effect.  Now,  to 
draw  a  mere  pattern — as,  for  instance,  the  bearings  of  a  shield 
with  these  simple  incisions,  would,  I  suppose,  occupy  an  able 
sculptor  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour ;  and  the  pattern  is 
then  clearly  seen,  under  all  circumstances  of  light  and  shade ; 
there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it,  and  no  missing  it.  To  carve 
out  the  bearings  in  due  and  finished  relief  would  occupy  a  long 
summer’s  day,  and  the  results  would  be  feeble  and  indecipher¬ 
able  in  the  best  lights,  and  in  some  lights  totally  and  hopelessly 
invisible,  ignored,  non-existant.  Now  the  Kenaissance  archi¬ 
tects,  and  our  modern  ones,  despise  the  simple  expedient  of 
the  rough  Roman  or  barbarian.  They  do  not  care  to  be  under¬ 
stood.  They  care  only  to  speak  finely,  and  be  thought  great 
orators,  if  one  could  only  hear  them.  So  I  leave  you  to  choose 
between  the  old  men,  who  took  minutes  to  tell  things  plainly, 
and  the  modern  men,  who  take  days  to  tell  them  unintelli¬ 
gibly. 

§  XXIV.  All  expedients  of  this  kind,  both  of  simplification 
and  energy,  for  the  expression  of  details  at  a  distance  where 
their  actual  forms  would  have  been  invisible,  but  more  espe¬ 
cially  this  linear  method,  I  shall  call  Proutism  ;  for  the  greatest 
master  of  the  art  in  modern  times  has  been  Samuel  Prout. 
He  actually  takes  up  buildings  of  the  later  times  in  which  the 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


251 


ornanaent  lias  booii  too  retincd  for  its  placG,  and  translates  it 
into  tlie  energised  linear  ornament  of  earlier  art ;  and  to  tliis 
power  of  taking  the  life  and  essence  of  decoration,  and  putting 
it  into  a  perfectly  intelligible  form,  when  its  own  fulness  would 
have  been  confused,  is  owing  the  especial  power  of  his  draw¬ 
ings.  Nothing  can  be  more  closely  analogous  than  the  method 
with  which  an  old  Lombard  uses  his  chisel,  and  that  with 
which  Front  uses  the  reed-pen  ;  and  we  shall  see  presently 
farther  correspondence  in  their  feeling  about  the  enrichment 
of  luminous  surfaces. 

§  XXV.  Now,  all  that  has  been  hitherto  said  refers  to  orna¬ 
ment  whose  distance  is  fixed,  or  nearly  so  ;  as  when  it  is  at 
any  considerable  height  from  the  ground,  supposing  the  spec¬ 
tator  to  desire  to  see  it,  and  to  get  as  near  it  as  he  can.  But 
the  distance  of  ornament  is  never  fixed  to  the  general  specta¬ 
tor.  The  tower  of  a  cathedral  is  bound  to  look  well,  ten  miles 
off,  or  five  miles,  or  half  a  mile,  or  within  fifty  yards.  The 
ornaments  of  its  top  have  fixed  distances,  compared  with  those 
of  its  base ;  but  quite  unfixed  distances  in  their  relation  to  the 
great  world  :  and  the  ornaments  of  the  base  have  no  fixed  dis¬ 
tance  at  all.  They  are  bound  to  look  well  from  the  other  side 
of  the  cathedral  close,  and  to  look  equally  well,  or  better,  as  we 
enter  the  cathedral  door.  How  are  we  to  manage  this  1 

§  XXVI.  As  nature  manages  it.  I  said  above,  §  xvii.,  that 
for  every  distance  from  the  eye  there  was  a  diffei’ent  system 
of  form  in  all  natural  objects ;  this  is  to  be  so  then  in  aichitec- 
tiire.  The  lesser  ornament  is  to  be  grafted  on  the  greater, 
and  third  or  fourth  orders  of  ornaments  upon  this  again,  as 
need  may  be,  until  we  reach  the  limits  of  possible  sight ;  each 
order  of  ornament  being  adapted  for  a  different  distance  :  first, 
for  example,  the  great  masses, — the  buttresses  and  stories  and 
black  windows  and  broad  cornices  of  the  tower,  which  give  it 
make,  and  organism,  as  it  rises  over  the  horizon,  half  a  score  of 
miles  a  wav then  the  traceries  and  shafts  and  pinnacles,  which 
give  it  richness  as  w’e  ajiproach :  then  the  niches  and  statues 
and  knobs  and  flow’ers,  wdiich  we  can  only  see  when  we  stand 
beneath  it.  At  this  third  order  of  ornament,  we  may  pause. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


DECORATION, 


in  tlie  upper  portions ;  bnt  on  the  roofs  of  tlie  niches,  and  the 
robes  of  the  statues,  and  the  rolls  of  the  mouldings,  comes  a 
fourth  order  of  ornament,  as  delicate  as  the  eye  can  follow, 
when  any  of  these  features  may  be  approached. 

§  xxYii.  All  good  ornamentation  is  thus  arborescent,  as  it 
were,  one  class  of  it  branching  out  of  another  and  sustained  by 
it ;  and  its  nobility  consists  in  this,  that  whatever  order  or  class 
of  it  we  may  be  contemplating,  we  shall  find  it  subordinated  to 
a  greater,  simpler,  and  more  powerful ;  and  if  we  then  contem¬ 
plate  the  greater  order,  we  shall  find  it  again  subordinated  to  a 
greater  still ;  until  the  greatest  can  oidy  be  quite  grasjied  by 
retiring  to  the  limits  of  distance  commanding  it. 

And  if  this  subordination  be  not  complete,  the  ornament  is 
bad  :  if  the  figurings  and  chasings  and  borderings  of  a  dress 
be  not  subordinated  to  the  folds  of  it, — if  the  folds  are  not  sub¬ 
ordinate  to  the  action  and  mass  of  the  figure, — if  this  action 
and  mass  not  to  the  divisions  of  the  recesses  and  shafts  among 
which  it  stands, — if  these  not  to  the  shadows  of  the  great  arches 
and  buttresses  of  the  whole  Iniilding,  in  each  case  there  is  error  ; 
much  more  if  all  be  contending  with  each  other  and  striving 
for  attention  at  the  same  time. 

§  XXVIII.  It  is  nevertheless  evident,  that,  however  perfect 
this  distribution,  there  cannot  be  orders  adapted  to  every  dis¬ 
tance  of  the  spectator.  Between  the  ranks  of  ornament  there 
must  always  be  a  bold  sejiaration  ;  and  there  must  be  many 
intermediate  distances,  where  we  are  too  far  off  to  see  the 
lesser  rank  clearly,  and  yet  too  near  to  grasp  the  next  higher 
rank  wholly ;  and  at  all  these  distances  the  spectator  will  feel 
himself  ill-placed,  and  will  desire  to  go  nearer  or  farther  away. 
This  must  be  the  case  in  all  noble  work,  natural  or  artificial.  It 
is  exactly  the  same  with  respect  to  Rouen  cathedral  or  the  INIont 
Blanc.  We  like  to  see  them  from  the  other  side  of  the  Seine, 
or  of  the  lake  of  Geneva  ;  from  the  Marche  aux  Fleurs,  or  the 
Valley  of  Chamouni ;  from  the  parapets  of  the  apse,  or  the 
crags  of  the  Montagne  de  la  Cote :  but  there  are  intermediate 
distances  which  dissatisfy  us  in  either  case,  and  from  which  one 
is  in  haste  either  to  advance  or  to  retire. 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORN^ AMENT. 


253 


§  XXIX.  Directly  opposed  to  tliis  ordered,  disciplined,  well 
officered  and  variously  ranked  ornament,  tliis  type  of  divine, 
and  tlxerefore  of  all  good  Imnian  government,  is  the  democratic 
ornament,  in  which  all  is  ecjually  influential,  and  lias  ei^ual 
office  and  authority ;  that  is  to  say,  none  of  it  any  office  nor 
authority,  but  a  life  of  continual  struggle  for  independence  and 
notoriety,  or  of  gambling  for  chance  regards.  The  English 
perpendicular  work  is  by  far  the  worst  of  this  kind  that  I  know  ; 
its  main  idea,  or  decimal  fraction  of  an  idea,  being  to  cover 
its  walls  with  dull,  successive,  eternity  of  reticulation,  to  fill 
with  equal  foils  the  equal  interstices  between  the  equal  bars, 
and  charge  the  interminable  blanks  with  statues  and  rosettes, 
invisible  at  a  distance,  and  uninteresting  near. 

The  early  Lombardic,  'V^eronese,  and  ISTorman  work  is  the 
exact  reverse  of  this  ^  being  divided  first  into  large  masses,  and 
these  masses  covered  with  minute  chasing  and  surface  work, 
w'hich  till  them  with  interest,  and  yet  do  not  disturb  nor  divide 
their  greatness.  The  lights  are  kept  broad  and  bright,  and  yet 
are  found  on  near  approach  to  be  charged  with  intricate  design. 
This,  again,  is  a  part  of  the  great  system  of  treatment  which  I 
shall  hereafter  call  “  Proutism  much  of  wdiat  is  thought  man¬ 
nerism  and  imperfection  in  Front’s  w'ork,  being  the  result  of 
his  determined  resolution  that  minor  details  shall  never  break 
up  his  large  masses  of  light. 

§  XXX.  Such  are  the  main  principles  to  be  observed  in  the 
adaptation  of  ornament  to  the  sight.  We  have  lastly  to  inquire 
by  what  method,  and  in  w^hat  quantities,  the  ornament,  thus 
adapted  to  mental  contemplation,  and  prepared  for  its  physical 
position,  may  most  wdsely  be  arranged.  I  think  the  method 
ought  first  to  be  considered,  and  the  quantity  last ;  for  the  ad¬ 
visable  quantity  depends  upon  the  method. 

§  XXXI.  It  was  said  above,  that  the  proper  treatment  or 
arrangement  of  ornament  was  that  which  expressed  the  laws 
and  w^ays  of  Deity.  Nowq  the  subordination  of  visible  orders 
to  each  other,  just  noted,  is  one  expression  of  these.  But  there 
may  also — must  also — be  a  subordination  and  obedience  of  the 
parts  of  each  order  to  some  visible  law',  out  of  itself,  but  having 


^54 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT. 


DECORATION. 


reference  to  itself  only  (not  to  any  upper  order) ;  some  law 
which  shall  not  oppress,  but  guide,  limit,  and  sustain. 

In  the  tenth  chapter  of  the  second  volume  of  “  Modern 
Painters,”  the  reader  will  find  that  I  traced  one  jiart  of  the 
beauty  of  God’s  creation  to  the  expression  of  a  ^e/f-restrained 
liberty  :  that  is  to  say,  the  image  of  that  perfection  of  divine 
action,  which,  though  free  to  work  in  arbitrary  methods,  works 
always  in  consistent  methods,  called  by  us  Laws. 

Now,  correspondingly,  we  find  that  when  these  natural 
objects  are  to  become  subjects  of  the  art  of  man,  their  perfect 
treatment  is  an  image  of  the  perfection  of  human  action  :  a 
voluntary  submission  to  divine  law. 

It  was  suggested  to  me  but  lately  by  the  friend  to  whose 
originality  of  thought  I  have  before  expressed  my  obligations, 
Mr.  Newton,  that  the  Greek  pediment,  with  its  enclosed  sculp¬ 
tures,  represented  to  the  Greek  mind  the  law  of  Fate,  confin¬ 
ing  human  action  within  limits  not  to  be  overpassed.  I  do  not 
believe  the  Greeks  ever  distinctly  thought  of  this  ;  but  the 
instinct  of  all  the  human  race,  since  the  world  began,  agrees  in 
some  expression  of  such  limitation  as  one  of  the  first  necessi¬ 
ties  of  good  ornament.*  And  this  expression  is  heightened, 
rather  than  diminished,  when  some  portion  of  the  design 
slightly  breaks  the  law  to  which  the  rest  is  sul.)jccted ;  it  is 
like  expressing  the  use  of  miracles  in  the  divine  government ; 
or,  perhaps,  in  slighter  degrees,  the  relaxing  of  a  law,  generally 
imperative,  in  compliance  with  some  more  imperative  need — 
the  hungering  of  David.  How  eagerly  this  special  infringe¬ 
ment  of  a  general  law  was  sometimes  sought  by  the  mediaeval 
workmen,  I  shall  be  frequently  able  to  point  out  to  the  reader  ; 
but  I  remember  just  now  a  most  curious  instance,  in  an  archi- 
volt  of  a  house  in  the  Corte  del  Eemer  close  to  the  Eialto  at 
Venice.  It  is  composed  of  a  wreath  of  flower-work — a  con¬ 
stant  Byzantine  design — with  an  animal  in  each  coil ;  the 

*  Some  valuable  remarks  on  this  subject  will  be  found  in  a  notice  of  the 
“  Seven  Lamps”  in  the  British  Quarterly  for  August,  1849.  I  think,  how¬ 
ever.  the  writer  attaches  too  great  importance  to  one  out  of  many  orna¬ 
mental  necessities. 


DECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMENT  OE  ORNAMENT. 


255 


whole  enclosed  between  two  fillets.  Each  animal,  leaping  or 
eating,  scratching  or  biting,  is  kept  nevertheless  strictly  within 
its  coil,  and  between  the  fillets.  Not  the  shake  of  an  ear,  not 
the  tip  of  a  tail,  overpasses  this  appointed  line,  throngh  a  series 
of  some  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  animals  ;  until,  on  a  sudden, 
and  by  mutual  consent,  two  little  beasts  (not  looking,  for  the 
rest,  more  rampant  than  the  others),  one  on  each  side,  lay  their 
small  paws  across  the  enclosing  fillet  at  exactly  the  same  point 
of  its  course,  and  thus  break  the  continuity  of  its  line.  Two 
ears  of  corn,  or  leaves,  do  the  same  thing  in  the  mouldings 
round  the  northern  door  of  the  Baptistery  at  Florence. 

§  XXXII.  Observe,  however,  and  this  is  of  the  utmost  possible 
importance,  that  the  value  of  this  type  does  not  consist  in  the 
mere  shutting  of  the  ornament  into  a  certain  space,  but  in  the 
acknowledgment  hy  the  ornament  of  the  fitness  of  the  limita¬ 
tion — of  its  own  perfect  willingness  to  submit  to  it ;  nay,  of  a 
predisposition  in  itself  to  fall  into  the  ordained  form,  without 
any  direct  expression  of  the  command  to  do  so ;  an  anticipa¬ 
tion  of  the  authority,  and  an  instant  and  willing  submission  to 
it,  in  every  fibre  and  spray  :  not  merely  willing^  but  happy 
submission,  as  being  pleased  rather  than  vexed  to  have  so 
beautiful  a  law  suggested  to  it,  and  one  which  to  follow  is  so 
justly  in  accordance  with  its  own  nature.  You  must  not  cut 
out  a  branch  of  hawthorn  as  it  grows,  and  rule  a  triangle  round 
it,  and  suppose  that  it  is  then  submitted  to  law.  Not  a  bit  of 
it.  It  is  only  put  in  a  cage,  and  will  look  as  if  it  must  get  out, 
for  its  life,  or  wither  in  the  confinement.  But  the  spirit  of 
triangle  must  be  put  into  the  hawthorn.  It  must  suck  in 
isoscelesism  with  its  sap.  Thorn  and  blossom,  leaf  and  spray, 
must  grow  with  an  awful  sense  of  triangular  necessity  upon 
them,  for  the  guidance  of  which  they  are  to  be  thankful,  and 
to  grow  all  the  stronger  and  more  gloriously.  And  though 
there  may  be  a  transgression  here  and  there,  and  an  adapta¬ 
tion  to  some  other  need,  or  a  reaching  forth  to  some  other  end 
greater  even  than  the  triangle,  yet  this  liberty  is  to  be  always 
accepted  under  a  solemn  sense  of  special  permission ;  and 
when  the  full  form  is  reached  and  the  enthe  submission 


e5(j  XXI.  TREATMENT  OF  ORNAMENT.  TECORATION. 

6  ^pressed,  and  every  blossom  lias  a  thrilling  sense  of  its  re- 
B}»onsibility  down  into  its  tiniest  stamen,  you  may  take  your 
terminal  line  away  if  you  will.  No  need  for  it  any  more. 
The  commandment  is  written  on  the  heart  of  the  thing. 

§  XXXIII.  Then,  besides  this  obedience  to  external  law,  there 
is  the  obedience  to  internal  headshiji,  which  constitutes  the 
unity  of  ornament,  of  which  I  think  enough  has  been  said  for 
my  present  purpose  in  the  chapter  on  Unity  in  the  second 
vol.  of  “  Modern  Painters.”  But  I  hardly  know  whether  to 
arrange  as  an  expression  of  a  divine  law,  or  a  representation 
of  a  physical  fact,  the  alternation  of  shade  with  light  which, 
in  equal  succession,  forms  one  of  the  chief  elements  of  conthi- 
uous  ornament,  and  in  some  peculiar  ones,  such  as  dentils  and 
billet  mouldings,  is  the  source  of  their  only  charm.  The  oppo¬ 
sition  of  good  and  evil,  the  antagonism  of  the  entire  human 
system  (so  ably  worked  out  by  Lord  Lindsay),  the  alternation 
of  labor  with  rest,  the  mingling  of  life  with  death,  or  the 
actual  physical  fact  of  the  division  of  light  from  darkness,  and 
of  the  falling  and  rising  of  night  and  day,  are  all  typified  or 
represented  by  these  chains  of  shade  and  light  of  which  the 
eye  never  wearies,  though  their  true  meaning  may  never  occur 
to  tlie  thoughts. 

§  xxxiv.  The  next  question  respecting  the  arrangement  of 
ornament  is  one  closely  connected  also  with  its  quantity.  The 
system  of  creation  is  one  in  which  “  God’s  creatures  leap  not, 
but  express  a  feast,  where  all  the  guests  sit  close,  and  nothing 
wants.”  It  is  also  a  feast,  where  there  is  nothing  redundant. 
So,  then,  in  distributing  our  ornament,  there  must  never  be 
any  sense  of  gap  or  blank,  neither  any  sense  of  there  being  a 
single  member,  or  fragment  of  a  member,  which  could  be 
spared.  Whatever  has  nothing  to  do,  whatever  could  go  with¬ 
out  being  missed,  is  not  ornament ;  it  is  deformity  and  en¬ 
cumbrance.  Away  with  it.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  care 
must  be  taken  either  to  diffuse  the  ornament  which  we  permit, 
in  due  relation  over  the  whole  building,  or  so  to  concentrate  it, 
as  never  to  leave  a  sense  of  its  having  got  into  knots,  and 
curdled  upon  some  points,  and  left  the  rest  of  the  building 


PECORATION. 


XXI.  TREATMEXT  OF  ORXAMEXT. 


257 


wliej.  It  is  very  difficult  to  give  tlie  rules,  or  analyse  tlie 
feelings,  wliicli  should  direct  us  in  this  matter :  for  some 
shafts  may  be  carved  and  others  left  unfinished,  and  that  with 
advantage  ;  some  windows  may  he  jewelled  like  Aladdin's, 
and  one  left  plain,  and  still  with  advantage ;  the  door  or  doors, 
or  a  single  turret,  or  the  whole  western  facade  of  a  church, 
or  the  apse  or  transept,  may  be  made  special  subjects  of  decora¬ 
tion,  and  the  rest  left  plain,  and  still  sometimes  with  advan- 
tao;e.  But  in  all  such  cases  there  is  either  siffu  of  that  feelino* 
which  I  advocated  in  the  First  Cha23ter  of  the  **  Seven  Lamps,” 
the  desire  of  rather  doing  some  |3ortion  of  the  building  as  we 
would  have  it,  and  leaving  the  rest  j^lain,  than  doing  the 
wdiole  imjierfectly ;  or  else  there  is  choice  made  of  some  im¬ 
portant  feature,  to  which,  as  more  honorable  than  the  rest, 
the  decoration  is  confined.  The  evil  is  when,  wdthout  system, 
and  without  jireference  of  the  nobler  members,  the  ornament 
alternates  between  sickly  luxuriance  and  sudden  blankness. 
In  many  of  our  Scotch  and  English  abbeys,  especially  Melrose, 
this  is  painfully  felt ;  but  the  worst  instance  I  have  ever  seen 
is  the  window  in  the  side  of  the  arch  under  the  Mellingtoii 
statue,  next  St.  George’s  Hospital.  In  the  first  place,  a  win¬ 
dow  has  no  business  there  at  all ;  in  the  second,  the  bars  of  the 
w'indow  are  not  the  jiroper  place  for  decoration,  especially 
'wavy  decoration,  which  one  instantly  fancies  of  cast  iron ;  in 
the  third,  the  richness  of  the  ornament  is  a  mere  patch  and 
ernjition  upon  the  wall,  and  one  hardly  knows  whether  to  be 
most  irritated  at  the  affectation  of  severity  in  the  rest,  or  at  the 
vain  luxuriance  of  the  dissolute  })arallelogram. 

§  XXXV.  Finally,  as  regards  quantity  of  ornament  I  have 
already  said,  again  and  again,  you  cannot  have  too  much  if  it 
be  good ;  that  is,  if  it  be  thoroughly  united  and  harmonised  by 
the  laAvs  hitherto  insisted  iijion.  But  you  may  easily  have  too 
much  if  you  have  more  than  you  have  sense  to  manage.  For 
with  every  added  order  of  ornament  increases  the  difficulty  of 
discipline.  It  is  exactly  the  same  as  in  war  :  you  cannot,  as  an 
abstract  law,  have  too  many  soldiers,  but  you  may  easily  have 
more  than  the  country  is  able  to  sustain,  or  than  your  general- 


058  SXI.  TEEATMENT  OF  OEXAMENT.  DECORATION. 

ship  is  competent  to  command.  And  every  regiment  wliicli 
yon  cannot  manage  will,  on  the  day^  of  battle,  be  in  youi  vfiy, 
and  encnmber  the  movements  it  is  not  in  disposition  to  sus¬ 
tain. 

§  XXXVI.  As  an  arcliitect,  therefore,  yon  are  modestly  to 
measure  yonr  capacity  of  governing  ornament.  Hemembei, 
its  essence, — its  being  ornament  at  all,  consists  in  its  being 
governed.  Lose  yonr  authority  over  it,  let  it  command  yon, 
or  lead  yon,  or  dictate  to  yon  in  any  wise,  and  it  is  an  offence, 
an  incumbrance,  and  a  dishonor.  And  it  is  always  ready  to  do 
this ;  wild  to  get  the  bit  in  its  teeth,  and  rush  forth  on  its  own 
devices.  Measure,  therefore,  yonr  sti’ength  ;  and  as  long  as 
there  is  no  chance  of  mutiny,  add  soldier  to  soldier,  battalion 
to  battalion  ;  but  be  assured  that  all  are  heartily  in  the  cause, 
and  that  there  is  not  one  of  whose  position  yon  are  ignorant, 
or  whose  service  yon  conld  spare. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  ANGLE. 

§  I.  We  liave  now  examined  the  treatment  and  specific 
kinds  of  ornament  at  our  command.  We  have  lastly  to  note 
the  fittest  places  for  their  disposal.  Xot  but  that  all  kinds  of 
ornament  are  used  in  all  places ;  but  there  are  some  parts  of 
the  building,  which,  without  ornament,  are  more  painful  than 
others,  and  some  which  wear  ornament  more  gracefully  than 
others ;  so  that,  although  an  able  architect  will  always  be  find¬ 
ing  out  some  new  and  unexpected  modes  of  decoration,  and 
fitting  his  ornament  into  wonderful  places  where  it  is  least  ex¬ 
pected,  there  are,  nevertheless,  one  or  two  general  laws  which 
may  be  noted  respecting  every  one  of  the  parts  of  a  building, 
laws  not  (except  a  few)  imperative  like  those  of  construction, 
but  yet  generally  expedient,  and  good  to  be  understood,  if  it 
were  only  that  we  might  enjoy  the  bnlliant  methods  in  which 
they  are  sometimes  broken.  I  shall  note,  however,  only  a  few 
of  the  simplest ;  to  trace  them  into  their  ramifications,  and 
class  in  due  order  the  known  or  possible  methods  of  decoration 
for  each  part  of  a  building,  would  alone  require  a  large  volume, 
and  be,  I  think,  a  somewhat  useless  work ;  for  there  is  often  a 
high  pleasure  in  tlio  very  unexpectedness  of  the  ornament, 
which  would  be  destroyed  by  too  elaborate  an  arrangement  of 
its  kinds. 

§  II.  I  think  that  the  reader  must,  by  this  time,  so  thor¬ 
oughly  understand  the  connection  of  the  parts  of  a  building, 
that  I  may  class  together,  in  treating  of  decoration,  several 
parts  which  I  kept  separate  in  speaking  of  construction.  Thus 
I  shall  put  under  one  head  (a)  the  base  of  the  wall  and  of  the 
shaft ;  then  (b)  the  wall  veil  and  shaft  itself ;  then  (c)  the 


2G0 


XXII.  THE  AHOLE. 


DECOKATION. 


cornice  and  capital  j  tlien  (d)  tlie  jamb  and  arcliivolt,  including 
the  arches  both  over  shafts  and  apertures,  and  the  jambs  of 
apertures,  which  are  closely  connected  with  their  archi\olts, 
linally  (e)  the  roof,  including  the  real  roof,  and  the  minor  roofs 
or  gables  of  pinnacles  and  arches.  I  think,  under  these  divis¬ 
ions,  all  may  be  arranged  which  is  necessary  to  be  generally 
stated ;  for  tracery  decorations  or  aperture  fillings  are  but 
smaller  forms  of  application  of  the  arch,  and  the  cusps  are 
merely  smaller  spandrils,  while  buttresses  have,  as  far  as  I 
know,  no  specific  ornament.  The  best  are  those  which  have 
least ;  and  the  little  they  have  resolves  itself  into  pinnacles, 
which  are  common  to  other  portions  of  the  building,  or  into 
small  shafts,  arches,  and  niches,  of  still  more  general  applica¬ 
bility.  We  shall  therefore  have  only  five  divisions  to  examine 
in  succession,  from  foundation  to  roof. 

S  III.  But  in  the  decoration  of  these  several  parts,  certain 


Fig.  LI. 


minor  conditions  of  ornament  occur  which  are  of  perfecBy 
general  application.  For  instance,  vhethei,  in  t.ichi\olts, 
jambs,  or  buttresses,  or  in  square  piers,  or  at  the  extremity  of 
the  entire  building,  we  necessarily  have  the  avkvvaid  (moicd 
or  architectural)  feature,  the  corner.  How  to  turn  a  corner 
gracefully  becomes,  therefore,  a  perfectly  general  question ;  to 
be  examined  without  reference  to  any  particular  part  of  the 
edifice. 

§  IV.  Again,  the  furrows  and  ridges  by  which  bars  of  paral¬ 
lel  light  and  shade  are  obtained,  whether  these  are  employed 
111  arches,  or  jambs,  or  bases,  or  cornices,  must  of  necessity 
present  one  or  more  of  six  forms  i  scpiare  projection,  (i  (Fig. 
LI.),  or  square  recess,  h,  sharp  projection,  c,  or  sharp  recess,  d, 
curved  projection,  e,  or  curved  recess,  y.  TV  hat  odd  curves 
the  projection  or  recess  may  assume,  or  how  these  dilfereiit 


DECORATION. 


XXII.  THE  AXGLE. 


261 


conditions  may  be  mixed  and  run  into  one  another,  is  not  our 
])resent  business.  We  note  only  the  six  distinct  kinds  or  types. 

Xow,  when  these  rids^es  or  furrows  are  on  a  small  scale 
they  often  themselves  constitute  all  the  ornament  required  for 
larger  features,  and  are  left  smooth  cut ;  but  on  a  very  large 
scale  they  are  apt  to  become  insipid,  and  they  require  a  sub¬ 
ornament  of  their  own,  the  consideration  of  which  is,  of  course, 
in  great  jiart,  general,  and  irrespective  of  the  place  held  by  the 
mouldiims  in  the  buildino;  itself :  which  consideration  I  think 
we  had  better  undertake  first  of  all. 

§  V.  But  before  we  come  to  particular  examination  of  these 
minor  forms,  let  us  see  how  far  we  can  simplify  it.  Look  back 
to  Fig.  LI.,  above.  There  are  distinguished  in  it  six  forms  of 
moulding.  Of  these,  c  is  nothing  but  a  small  corner ;  but,  for 
convenience  sake,  it  is  better  to  call  it  an  edge,  and  to  consider 
its  decoration  together  with  that  of  the  member  a,  which  is 
called  a  fillet ;  while  which  I  shall  call  a  roll  (because  I  do 
not  choose  to  assume  that  it  shall  be  only  of  the  semicircular 
section  here  given),  is  also  best  considered  together  with  its 
relative  recess, and  because  the  shape  of  a  recess  is  of  no 
great  consequence,  I  shall  class  all  the  three  recesses  together,, 
and  we  shall  thus  have  only  three  subjects  for  separate  com 
si  derat  ion  : — 

t 

1.  The  Angle. 

2.  The  Edge  and  Fillet. 

3.  The  Boll  and  Kecess. 

§  VI.  There  are  two  other  general  forms  which  may  proba¬ 
bly  occur  to  the  reader’s  mind,  namely,  the  ridge  (as  of  a  roof), 
which  is  a  corner  laid  oti  its  back,  or  sloping, — a  supine  corner, 
decorated  in  a  very  different  manner  from  a  stiff  upright 
corner :  and  the  point,  which  is  a  concentrated  corner,-  and  has 
wonderfully  elaborate  decorations  all  to  its  insignificant  self, 
finials,  and  spikes,  and  I  know  not  what  more.  But  both  these 
conditions  are  so  closely  connected  \vith  roofs  (even  the  cusp 
finial  being  a  kind  of  pendant  to  a  small,  roof),  that  I  think  i' 


203 


XXII.  THE  AISTGLE. 


DECORATION. 


better  to  class  them  and  their  ornament  under  the  head  of  roof 
decoration,  together  with  the  whole  tribe  of  crockets  and 
bosses ;  so  that  we  shall  be  here  concerned  only  with  the  three 
subjects  above  distinguished  ;  and,  first,  the  corner  or  Angle. 

§  VII.  The  mathematician  knows  there  are  many  kinds  of 
angles ;  but  the  one  we  have  principally  to  deal  with  now,  is 
that  which  the  reader  may  very  easily  conceive  as  the  corner 
of  a  square  house,  or  square  anything.  It  is  of  course  the  one 
of  most  frequent  occurrence ;  and  its  treatment,  once  understood, 
may,  with  slight  modification,  be  referred  to  other  corners, 
sharper  or  blunter,  or  with  curved  sides. 

§  VIII.  Evidently  the  first  and  roughest  idea  which  would 
occur  to  any  one  who  found  a  corner  troublesome,  would  be 
to  cut  it  off.  This  is  a  very  summary  and  tyrannical  proceeding, 
somewhat  barbarous,  yet  advisable  if  nothing  else  can  be  done : 
an  amputated  corner  is  said  to  be  chamfered.  It  can,  however, 

evidently  be  cut  off  in  three  ways : 
1.  with  a  concave  cut,  a  ‘  2.  with 
a  straight  cut,  h  /  3.  with  a  convex 
cut,  c,  Fig.  LII. 

The  first  two  methods,  the 
most  violent  and  summary,  have 
the  apparent  disadvantage  that  we  get  by  them, — two  corners 
instead  of  one ;  much  milder  corners,  howevefi,  and  with  a*  dif¬ 
ferent  light  and  shade  between  them ;  so  that  both  methods 
are  often  very  expedient.  You  may  see  the  straight  chamfer 
(?>)  on  most  lamp  posts,  and  pillars  at  railway  stations,  it  being 
the  easiest  to  cut :  the  concave  chamfer  requires  more  care,  and 
occurs  generally  in  well-finished  but  simple  architecture — very 
beautifullv  in  the  small  arches  of  the  Broletto  of  Como,  Plate 
V. ;  and  the  straight  chamfer  in  architecture  of  every  kind, 
very  constantly  in  Norman  cornices  and  arches,  as  in  Fig.  2, 
Plate  IV.,  at  Sens. 

§  IX.  The  third,  or  convex  chamfer,  as  it  is  the  gentlest 
mode  of  treatment,  so  (as  in  medicine  and  morals)  it  is  very 
generally  the  best.  For  while  the  two  other  methods  produce 
two  corners  instead  of  one,  this  gentle  chamfer  does  verily  get 


DECORATION. 


XXII.  THE  AXGLE. 


263 


rid  of  tlie  corner  altogether,  and  substitutes  a  soft  curve  in  its 
place. 

But  it  has,  in  the  form  above  given,  this  grave  disadvantage, 
that  it  looks  as  if  the  corner  had  been  rubbed  or  worn  otf, 
blunted  by  time  and  weather,  and  in  want  of  sharpening  again. 
A  great  deal  often  depends,  and  in  such  a  case  as  this,  every¬ 
thing  depends,  on  the  Voluntariness  of  the  ornament.  The 
work  of  time  is  beautiful  on  surfaces,  but  not  on  edges  intended 
to  be  sharp.  Even  if  we  needed  them  blunt,  we  should  not 
like  them  blunt  on  compulsion ;  so,  to  show  that  the  bluntness 


Fig.  Lm. 

a  1  c  d 


is  our  own  ordaining,  we  will  put  a  slight  incised  line  to  mark 
otf  the  rounding,  and  show  that  it  goes  no  farther  than  we 
choose.  We  shall  thus  have  the  section  a,  Fig.  LIII. ;  and 
this  mode  of  turning  an  angle  is  one  of  the  very  best  ever  in¬ 
vented.  By  enlarging  and  deepening  the  incision,  we  get  in 
succession  the  forms  h,  c,  c?/  and  by  describing  a  small  equal 
arc  on  each  of  the  sloping  lines  of  these  figures,  we  get  e, 

§  X.  I  do  not  know  whether  these  mouldings  are  called  by 
architects  chamfers  or  beads ;  but  I  think  head  a  bad  word  for 
a  continuous  moulding,  and  the  proper  sense  of  the  word 


SG4 


XXII.  THE  AXGLE. 


DECORATION. 


chamfer  is  fixed  by  Spenser  as  descriptive  not  merely  of  trum 
cation,  but  of  trencli  or  furrow: — 

“Tho  gin  you,  fond  flies,  the  cold  to  scorn. 

And,  crowing  in  pipes  made  of  green  corn. 

You  tliinken  to  be  lords  of  the  year; 

But  eft  when  ye  count  you  freed  from  fear. 

Comes  the  hreme  winter  with  chamfred  brows, 

Full  of  wrinkles  and  frosty  furrows.  ” 


Fig.  LIV. 


So  I  shall  call  the  above  mouldings  beaded  chamfers,  when 
there  is  any  chance  of  confusion  with  the  plain  chamfer,  a,  or 
h,  of  Fig.  LII. :  and  when  there  is  no  such  chance,  I  shall  use 
tlie  word  chamfer  only. 

§  XI.  Of  those  above  given,  h  is  the  constant  chamfer  of 
Venice,  and  a  of  Verona:  a  being  the  grandest  and  best,  and 
having  a  peculiar  pi’ecision  and  cpiaintness  of  effect  about  it. 
I  found  it  twice  in  V enice,  used  on  the  sharp  angle,  as  at  a  and 
Z*,  Fig.  LIV.,  a  being  from  the  angle  of  a  house  on  the  Rio  San 
Zulian,  and  h  from  the  windows  of  the  church  of  San  Stefano. 

§  XII.  There  is,  however,  evidently  another  variety  of  the 

chamfers,  f  and  Fig. 
LIIL,  formed  by  an  un¬ 
broken  curve  instead  of 
two  curves,  as  c,  Fig.  LIV. ; 
and  when  this,  or  the  cham¬ 
fer  (J^  Fig.  LIIL,  is  large, 
•it  is  impossible  to  say 
whether  they  liave  been 
devised  from  the  incised 
angle,  or  from  small  shafts 
set  in  a  nook,  as  at  «?,  Fig. 
LIV.,  or  in  the  hollow  of 
the  curved  chamfer,  as 
Fig.  LIV.  In  general, 
however,  the  shallow  cham¬ 
fers,  rt,  5,  6,  and  y,  Fig. 
LIII.,  are  peculiar  to  south¬ 
ern  work ;  and  may  be  assumed  to  have  been  derived  from  the 


I;ECORATION. 


XXII.  THE  AXGLE. 


2C5 


incised  angle,  while  the  deep  chamfers,  c,  g,  h,  are  charac¬ 
teristic  of  northern  work,  and  may  he  partly  derived  or  imitated 
from  the  angle  shaft ;  while,  with  the  usual  extravagance  of 
the  northern  architects,  they  are  cut  deeper  and  deeper  until 
we  arrive  at  the  condition/.  Fig.  LIY.,  which  is  the  favorite 
chamfer  at  Bourges  and  Bayeux,  and  in  other  good  French 
work. 

I  have  placed  in  the  Appendix  *  a  figure  belonging  to  this 
subject,  but  which  cannot  interest  the  general  reader,  showing 
the  number  of  possible  chamfers  with  a  roll  moulding  of  given 
size. 

§  XIII.  If  we  take  the  plain  chamfer,  h,  of  Fig.  LII.,  on  a 
large  scale,  as  at  a,  Fig.  LY.,  and  bead  both  its  edges,  cutting 
away  the  parts  there  shaded,  we  shall  have  a  form  much  used 
in  richly  decorared  Gothic,  both  in  Fngland  and  Italy.  It 
might  be  more  simply  described  as  the  chamfer  a  of  Fig.  LII., 
with  an  incision  on  each  rig.LV. 

edge ;  but  the  part  here 
shaded  is  often  worked 
into  ornamental  forms,  not 
being  entirely  cut  away. 

§  XIV.  Many  other 
mouldings,  which  at  first 
sight  appear  very  elab¬ 
orate,  are  nothing  more  than  a  chamfer,  with  a  series  of  small 
echoes  of  it  on  each  side,  dying  away  with  a  ri]3ple  on  the 
surface  of  the  wall,  as  in  h,  Fig.  LY.,  from  Coutances  (ob¬ 
serve,  here  the  white  part  is  the  solid  stone,  the  shade  is  cut 
away). 

Chamfers  of  this  kind  are  used  on  a  small  scale  and  in  deli¬ 
cate  work :  the  coarse  chamfers  are  found  on  all  scales :  /  and 
g,  Fig.  LIII.,  in  Yenice,  form  the  great  angles  of  almost  every 
Gothic  palace  ;  the  roll  being  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a  half  round, 
and  treated  as  a  shaft,  with  a  capital  and  fresh  base  at  every 
story,  while  the  stones  of  which  it  is  composed  form  alternate 


*  Appendix  23:  “  Varieties  of  Chamfer.” 


S66 


XXII.  THE  ANGLE. 


DECOKATION, 


quoins  in  tlie  brick-work  beyond  the  chamfer  curve.  I  need 
liardly  say  how  much  nobler  this  arrangement  is  than  a  com¬ 
mon  quoined  angle ;  it  gives  a  finish  to  the  aspect  of  the  whole 
pile  attainable  in  no  other  way.  And  thus  much  may  serve 
concerning  angle  decoration  by  chamfer. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


the  edge  and  fillet. 

§  I.  The  decoration  of  the  angle  by  various  forms  of  cham* 
fer  and  bead,  as  above  described,  is  the  quietest  method  we  can 
employ ;  too  quiet,  when  great  energy  is  to  be  given  to  the 
moulding,  and  impossible,  when,  instead  of  a  bold  angle,  we 
have  to  deal  with  a  small  projecting  edge,  like  c  in  Fig.  LI. 
In  such  cases  we  may  employ  a  decoration,  far  ruder  and  easier 
in  its  simplest  conditions  than  the  bead,  far  moie  effective 
when  not  used  in  too  great  profusion ;  and  of  which  the  com¬ 
plete  developments  are  the  source  of  mouldings  at  once  the 
most  picturesque  and  most  serviceable  which  the  Gothic 
builders  invented. 

§  II.  The  gunwales  of  the  Yenetian  heavy  barges  being 
liable  to  somewhat  rough  collision  with  each  other,  and  with 
the  walls  of  the  streets,  are  generally  protected  by  a  piece  of 
timber,  which  projects  in  the  form  of  tlie  fillet,  ci^  PI"  ? 
but  which,  like  all  other  fillets,  may,  if  we  so  choose,  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  composed  of  two  angles  or  edges,  which  the  natural 
and  most  wholesome  love  of  the  Yenetian  boatmen  for  orna¬ 
ment,  otherwise  strikingly  evidenced  by  their  painted  sails 
and  glittering  flag-vanes,  will  not  suffer  to  remain  wholly 
undecorated.  The  rough  service  of  these  timbers,  however, 
will  not  admit  of  rich  ornament,  and  the  boatbuilder  usually 
contents  himself  with  cutting  a  series  of  notches  in  each  edge, 
one  series  alternating  with  the  other,  as  represented  at  1, 
.Plate  IX. 

§  III.  In  that  simple  ornament,  not  as  confined  to  Yenetian 
boats,  but  as  representative  of  a  general  human  instinct  to 


26S 


XXTTT.  THE  EDGE  AISTD  FILLET. 


DECORATTOX. 


hack  at  an  edge,  demonstrated  by  all  school-boys  and  all  idle 
possessors  of  penknives  or  other  cutting  instruments  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic; — in  that  rnde  Venetian  gunwale,  I  say,  is 
the  germ  of  all  the  ornament  which  has  touched,  with  its  rich 
successions  of  angular  shadow,  the  portals  and  archi  volts  of  neai'ly 
every  early  building  of  importance,  from  the  North  Cape  to 
the  Straits  of  Messina.  Nor  are  the  modifications  of  the  first 
suggestion  intricate.  All  that  is  generic  in  tlieir  character  may 
be  seen  on  Plate  IX.  at  a  "lance. 

o 

§  IV.  Taking  a  piece  of  stone  instead  of  timber,  and  enlarg¬ 
ing  the  notches,  until  they  meet  each  other,  we  have  the 
condition  2,  udiich  is  a  moulding  from  the  tomb  of  the  Doge 
Andi’ea  Dandolo,  in  St.  Mark’s.  Now,  considering  this  mould¬ 
ing  as  composed  of  two  decorated  edges,  each  edge  will  be 
reduced,  by  the  meeting  of  the  notches,  to  a  series  of  four-sided 
pyramids  (as  marked  off  by  the  dotted  lines),  which,  the  notches 
here  being  shallow,  will  be  shallow  pyramids ;  but  by  deepen¬ 
ing  the  notches,  we  get  them  as  at  3,  with  a  profile  a,  more  or 
less  steep.  This  moulding  I  shall  always  call  “  the  plain  dog¬ 
tooth;”  it  is  used  in  profusion  in  the  Venetian  and  Veronese 
Gothic,  generally  set  with  its  front  to  the  spectator,  as  here  at 
3;  but  its  effect  maybe  much  varied  by  placing  it  obliquely 
(4,  and  profile  as  at  h) ;  or  with  one  side  horizontal  (5,  and  pro¬ 
file  c).  Of  these  three  conditions,  3  and  5  are  exactly  the  same 
in  reality,  only  differently  placed ;  but  in  4  the  pyramid  is 
obtuse,  and  the  inclination  of  its  base  variable,  the  upper  side 
of  it  being  always  kept  vertical.  It  is  comparatively  rare.  Of 
the  three,  the  last,  5,  is  far  the  most  brilliant  in  effect,  giving 
in  the  distance  a  zigzag  form  to  the  high  light  on  it,  and  a  full 
sharp  shadow  below.  The  use  of  this  shadow  is  sufficiently 
seen  by  fig.  7  in  this  plate  (the  arch  on  the  left,  the  numbei 
beneath  it),  in  which  these  levelled  dogteeth,  with  a  small  in¬ 
terval  between  each,  are  employed  to  set  off  by  their  vigor  the 
delicacy  of  floral  oi’iiament  above.  This  arch  is  the  side  of  a 
niche  from  the  tomb  of  Can  Signorio  della  Scala,  at  Verona; 
and  the  value,  as  well  as  the  distant  expression  of  Its  dogtooth, 
may  be  seen  by  referring  to  Pi-out’s  beautiful  drawing  of  this 


TX. 


VrS  y  j 

; 

f  '• 

' 

le'.v.--..^  i  ’-■;  !• 

m'  ''^%:-rLa\ 

s  , 

i\ 

3M!  ' — 

14 

EDGE  DECORATION 


*' -y 


J 


'I 


DECORATION. 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AXD  FILLET. 


2G9 


tomb  in  bis  “  Sketclies  in  France  and  Italy.”  I  have  before 
observed  that  tliis  artist  never  fails  of  seizing  the  true  and  lead¬ 
ing  expression  of  wliatever  lie  touches :  he  has  made  this  orna¬ 
ment  the  leading  feature  of  the  niche,  expressing  it,  as  in 
distance  it  is  only  expressible,  by  a  zigzag. 

§  V.  The  reader  may  perhaps  be  surprised  at  my  speaking 
so  highly  of  this  drawing,  if  he  take  the  pains  to  compare 
Front’s  symbolism  of  the  work  on  the  niche  with  the  facts  as 
they  stand  here  in  Plate  IX.  But  the  ti'uth  is  that  Front  has 
rendered  the  effect  of  the  monument  on  the  mind  of  the  passer¬ 
by  ; — the  effect  it  was  intended  to  have  on  every  man  who 
turned  the  corner  of  the  street  beneath  it :  and  in  this  sense 
there  is  actually  more  truth  and  likeness  in  Front’s  translation 
than  in  my  fac-simile,  made  diligently  by  peering  into  the 
details  from  a  ladder.  I  do  not  say  that  all  the  symbolism  in 
Front’s  Sketch  is  the  best  possible  ;  but  it  is  the  best  which  any 
architectural  draughtsman  has  yet  invented  ;  and  in  its  applica¬ 
tion  to  special  subjects  it  always  shows  curious  internal  evidence 
that  the  sketch  has  been  made  on  the  spot,  and  that  the  artist 
tried  to  draw  what  he  saw,  not  to  invent  an  attractive  subject. 
I  shall  notice  other  instances  of  this  heieafter. 

§  VI.  The  dogtooth,  employed  in  this  simple  form,  is,  how¬ 
ever,  rather  a  foil  for  other  ornament,  than  itself  a  satisfactory 
or  generally  available  decoration.  It  is,  however,  easy  to  enrich 
it  as  we  choose :  taking  up  its  simple  form  at  3,  and  describing 
the  arcs  marked  by  the  dotted  lines  upon  its  sides,  and  cutting 
a  small  triangular  cavity  between  them,  we  shall  leave  its  ridges 
somewhat  rudely  representative  of  four  leaves,  as  at  8,  which  is 
the  section  and  front  view  of  one  of  the  Venetian  stone  cornices 
described  above.  Chap.  XIY.,  §  it.,  the  figure  8  being  here  put 
in  the  hollow  of  the  gutter.  The  dogtooth  is  put  on  the  outer 
lower  truncation,  and  is  actually  in  position  as  fig.  5  ;  but 
being  always  looked  up  to,  is  to  the  spectator  as  3,  and  always 

*I  do  not  here  speak  of  artistical  merits,  but  the  play  of  the  light  among 
the  lower  shafts  is  also  singularly  beautiful  in  this  sketch  of  Prout’s,  and 
the  character  of  the  wild  and  broken  leaves,  half  dead,  on  the  stone  of  the 
foreground. 


270 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AXD  FILLET. 


DECORATION. 


ricli  and  effective.  The  dogteeth  are  perhaps  most  frequently 
expanded  to  the  width  of  tig.  9. 

§  VII.  As  in  nearly  all  other  ornaments  previously  described, 
so  in  this, — we  have  only  to  deepen  the  Italian  cutting,  and  we 
shall  get  the  Northern  type.  If  we  make  the  original  pyramid 
somewhat  steeper,  and  instead  of  lightly  incising,  cut  it  through, 
so  as  to  have  the  leaves  held  only  by  their  points  to  the  base, 
we  shall  have  the  English  dogtooth ;  somewhat  vulgar  in  its 
piquancy,  when  compared  with  French  mouldings  of  a  similar 
kind.*  It  occurs,  I  think,  on  one  house  in  Venice,  in  the 
Campo  St.  Polo ;  but  the  ordinary  moulding,  with  light  inci¬ 
sions,  is  frequent  in  archivolts  and  architraves,  as  well  as  in  the 
roof  cornices. 

§  VIII.  This  being  the  simplest  treatment  of  the  pyramid, 
fig.  10,  from  the  refectory  of  AVenlock  Abbey,  is  an  example 
of  the  simplest  decoration  of  the  recesses  or  inward  angles 
between  the  pyramids;  that  is  to  say,  of  a  simple  hacked  edge 
like  one  of  those  in  fig.  2,  the  cuts  being  taken  up  and  decorated 
instead  of  the  jpoints.  Each  is  worked  into  a  small  trefoiled 
arch,  with  an  incision  round  it  to  mark  its  outline,  and  another 
slight  incision  above,  expressing  the  angle  of  the  first  cutting. 
I  said  that  the  teeth  in  fig.  T  had  in  distance  the  effect  of  a  zig¬ 
zag:  in  fig.  10  this  zigzag  effect  is  seized  upon  and  developed, 
but  with  the  easiest  and  roughest  work ;  the  angular  incision 
being  a  mere  limiting  line,  like  that  described  in  §  ix.  of  the 
last  chapter.  But  hence  the  farther  steps  to  every  condition  of 
Norman  ornament  are  self  evident.  I  do  not  say  that  all  of 
them  arose  from  development  of  the  dogtooth  in  this  manner, 
many  being  quite  independent  inventions  and  uses  of  zigzag 
lines  ;  still,  they  may  all  be  referred  to  this  simple  ty]>e  as  tlieir 
root  and  representative,  that  is  to  say,  the  mere  hack  of  the 
Venetian  gunwale,  mth  a  limiting  line  following  the  resultant 
zigzag. 

§  IX.  Fig.  11  IS  a  singular  and  much  more  artificial  condi¬ 
tion,  cast  in  brick,  from  the  church  of  the  Frari,  and  given 


*  Vide  the  “Seven  Lamps,”  p.  122. 


DECORATTON. 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AXD  FILLET. 


271 


here  only  for  future  reference.  Fig.  12,  resulting  from  a  fillet 
with  the  cuts  on  each  of  its  edges  interi-upted  by  a  bar,  is  a 
frequent  Venetian  moulding,  and  of  great  value  ;  but  the  plain 
or  leaved  dogteeth  have  been  the  favorites,  and  that  to  such  a 
degree,  that  even  the  Kenaissance  architects  took  them  up ; 
and  the  best  bit  of  Eenaissance  design  in  Venice,  the  side  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  next  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  owes  great  part  of  ' 
its  splendor  to  its  foundation,  faced  with  large  flat  dogteeth, 
each  about  a  foot  wide  in  the  base,  with  their  points  truncated, 
and  alternating  with  cavities  which  are  their  own  negatives  or 
casts. 

§  X.  One  other  form  of  the  dogtooth  is  of  great  import¬ 
ance  in  northern  architecture,  that  produced  by  oblique  cuts 
slightly  curved,  as  in  the  margin.  Fig.  LVI.  It  is  susceptible 
of  the  most  fantastic  and  endless  decoration  ;  each  of  the  re¬ 
sulting  leaves  being,  in  the  early  porches  of  Eouen  and  Lisieux, 
hollowed  out  and  worked  into  branching  tracery:  and  at 
Bourges,  for  distant  effect,  worked  into  plain  leaves,  or  bold 
bony  processes  with  knobs  at  the  points,  and  near  the  specta¬ 
tor,  into  crouching  demons  and  broad  winged  owls,  and  other 
fancies  and  intricacies,  innumerable  and  inexpressible. 

§  XI.  Thus  much  is  enough  to  be  noted  respecting  edge 
decoration.  IVe  were  next  to  consider  the  fillet. 

Professor  Willis  has  noticed  an  ornament,  which 
he  has  called  the  Venetian  dentil,  “as  the  most 
universal  ornament  in  its  own  district  that  ever  I 
met  with but  has  not  noticed  the  reason  for  its 
frequency.  It  is  nevertheless  highly  interesting. 

Tlie  whole  early  architecture  of  Veiiice  is 
architecture  of  incrustation  :  this  has  not  been 
enough  noticed  in  its  peculiar  relation  to  that  of 
the  rest  of  Italy.  There  is,  indeed,  much  in- 
crusted  architecture  throughout  Italy,  in  elaborate 
ecclesiastical  work,  but  there  is  more  which  is 
frankly  of  brick,  or  thoroughly  of  stone.  But  the  Venetian 
habitually  incrusted  his  work  with  macro  ;  he  built  his  liouses, 
even  the  meanest,  as  if  he  had  been  a  shell-fish,  roughly  in- 


272 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AXD  FILLET. 


DECORATION. 


side,  motlier-of-pearl  on  tlie  surface  :  lie  was  content,  perforce, 
to  gather  the  clay  of  the  Brenta  hanks,  and  hake  it  into  hrick 
for  his  snhstance  of  wall ;  hnt  he  overlaid  it  with  the  wealth 
of  ocean,  with  the  most  jirecions  foreign  marbles.  Yon  might 
fancy  early  Yenice  one  wilderness  of  hrick,  which  a  petrifying 
sea  had  heaten  upon  till  it  coated  it  with  marhle  :  at  first  a 
dark  city — washed  white  hy  the  sea  foam.  And  I  told  you 
before  that  it  was  also  a  city  of  shafts  and  arches,  and  that  its 
dwellings  were  raised  upon  continuous  arcades,  among  which 
the  sea  waves  wandered.  Hence  the  thoughts  of  its  builders 
were  early  and  constantly  directed  to  the  incrustation  of 
arches. 

§  xii.  In  Fig.  LYII.  I  have  given  two  of  these  Bj^zantine 
stilted  arches :  the  one  on  the  right,  »,  as  they  now  too  often 
appear,  in  its  bare  brickwork ;  that  on  the  left,  with  its  ala¬ 
baster  covering,  literally  marble  defensive  armor,  riveted 
together  in  pieces,  wdiich  follow  the  contours  of  the  building. 
How.  on  the  wall,  these  pieces  are  mere  fiat  slabs  cut  to  the 

arch  outline  ;  but  under  the 
soffit  of  the  arch  the  marble 
mail  is  curved,  often  cut 
singularly  thin,  like  bent 
tiles,  and  fitted  together  so 
that  the  pieces  would  sus¬ 
tain  each  other  even  without 
rivets.  It  is  of  course  de¬ 
sirable  that  this  thin  sub- 
nrch  of  marble  should  project  enough  to  sustain  the  facing  of 
the  wall ;  and  the  reader  will  see,  in  Fig.  LYII.,  that  its  edge 
forms  a  kind  of  narrow  band  round  the  arch  (J),  a  band  which 
the  least  enrichment  would  render  a  ALaluable  decorative  fea¬ 
ture.  How  this  band  is,  of  course,  if  the  soffit-pieces  project 
a  little  beyond  the  face  of  the  wall-pieces,  a  mere  fillet,  like  the 
wooden  gunwale  in  Plate  IX.  ;  and  the  question  is,  how  to 
enrich  it  most  wisely.  It  might  easily  have  been  dog-toothed, 
but  the  Byzantine  architects  had  not  invented  the  dogtooth, 
and  would  not  have  used  it  here,  if  they  had  ;  for  the  dogtooth 


Fig.  LVH. 


DECOKATION. 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AXD  FILLET. 


273 


cannot  be  employed  alone,  especially  on  so  principal  an  angle 
as  this  of  the  main  arches,  without  giving  to  the  whole  biiild- 
ing  a  peculiar  look,  which  I  can  no  otherwise  describe  than  as 
being  to  the  eye,  exactly  what  nntempered  acid  is  to  the 
tongue.  The  mere  dogtooth  is  an  dcid  moulding,  and  can 
only  be  used  in  certain  mingling  with  others,  to  give  them 
piquancy  ;  never  alone.  What,  then,  will  be  the  next  easiest 
method  of  giving  interest  to  the  fillet  ? 

§  XIII.  Simply  to  make  the  incisions  square  instead  of  sharp, 
and  to  leave  equal  intervals  of  the  square  edge  between  them. 
Fig.  LYIII.  is  one  of  the  curved  pieces  of  arch  armor,  with  its 
edge  thus  treated ;  one  side  only  being  done  at  the  bottom,  to 
show  the  simplicity  and  ease  of  the  work.  This  ornament 
gives  force  and  interest  to  the  edge  of  the  arch,  without  in  the 
least  diminishing  its  quietness.  ITothing  rig.  lvih. 
was  ever,  nor  could  be  ever  invented,  fitter 
for  its  purpose,  or  more  easil}'-  cut.  From 
the  arch  it  therefore  found  its  way  into 
every  position  where  the  edge  of  a  piece  of 
stone  projected,  and  became,  from  its  con¬ 
stancy  of  occurrence  in  the  latest  Gothic 
as  well  as  the  earliest  Byzantine,  most  truly 
deserving  of  the  name  of  the  ‘'A^enetian 
Dentil.”  Its  complete  intention  is  now, 
however,  only  to  be  seen  in  the  pictures  of 
Gentile  Bellini  and  Yittor  Carpaccio  ;  for, 
like  most  of  the  rest  of  the  mouldings  of 
Yenetian  buildings,  it  was  always  either 
gilded  or  painted — often  both,  gold  being 
laid  on  the  faces  of  the  dentils,  and  their 
recesses  colored  alternately  red  and  blue, 

§  XIV.  Observe,  however,  that  the  rea¬ 
son  above  given  for  the  xinivei'sality  of 
this  ornament  was  by  no  means  the  reason  of  its  invention. 
The  Yenetian  dentil  is  a  particular  application  (consequent  on 
the  inciTisted  character  of  Yenetian  architecture)  of  the  gene¬ 
ral  idea  of  dentil,  which  had  been  originally  given  by  the 


274 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 


DECORATION. 


Greeks,  and  realised  both  by  them  and  by  the  Byzantines  in 
many  laborious  forms,  long  before  there  was  need  of  them  for 
arch  armor ;  and  the  lower  half  of  Plate  IX.  will  give  some 
idea  of  the  conditions  which  occur  in  the  Pomanesqiie  of 
Venice,  distinctly  derived  from  the  classical  dentil ;  and  of  the 
gradual  transition  to  the  more  convenient  and  simple  type,  the 
running-hand  dentil,  which  afterwards  became  the  charactei- 
istic  of  Venetian  Gothic.  No.  13  *  is  the  common  dentiled 
cornice,  which  occurs  repeatedly  in  St.  Mark's ;  and,  as  late  as 
the  thirteenth  century,  a  reduplication  of  it,  forming  the  abaci 
of  the  capitals  of  the  Piazzetta  shafts.  Fig.  15  is  perhaps  an 
earlier  type  |  perhaps  only  one  of  more  careless  woikmanship, 
from  a  Byzantine  ruin  in  the  Bio  di  Ca’  Foscari :  and  it  is 
interesting  to  compare  it  with  fig.  14  from  the  Cathedial  of 
Vienne,  in  South  France.  Fig.  17,  from  St.  Mark’s,  and  18, 
from  the  apse  of  Murano,  are  two  very  eaily  examples  in  which 
the  future  true  Venetian  dentil  is  already  developed  in  method 
of  execution,  though  the  object  is  still  only  to  imitate  the 
classical  one  ;  and  a  rude  imitation  of  the  bead  is  joined  with 
it  in  tig.  IT.  No.  16  indicates  two  examples  of  experimental 
forms :  the  uppermost  from  the  tomb  of  Mastino  della  Scala, 
at  Verona ;  the  lower  from  a  door  in  Venice,  I  believe,  of  the 
thirteenth  century  :  19  is  a  more  frequent  arrangement,  chiefly 
found  in  cast  brick,  and  connecting  the  dentils  with  the  dog¬ 
teeth  :  20  is  a  form  introduced  richly  in  the  later  Gothic,  but 
of  rare  occurrence  until  the  latter  half  of  the  thirteenth  cen¬ 
tury.  I  shall  call  it  the  gabled  dentil.  It  is  found  in  the 
greatest  profusion  in  sepulchral  Gothic,  associated  with  several 
sliffht  variations  from  the  usual  dentil  type,  of  which  No.  21, 
from  the  tomb  of  Pietro  Cornaro,  may  serve  as  an  example. 

§  XV.  All  the  forms  given  in  Plate  IX.  are  of  not  unfre- 
quent  occurrence :  varying  much  in  size  and  depth,  according 
to  the  expression  of  the  work  in  which  they  occur  ;  generally 
increasing  in  size  in  late  work  (the  earliest  dentils  are  seldom 

*  The  sections  of  all  the  mouldings  are  given  on  the  right  of  each  ;  the 
part  which  is  constantly  solid  being  shaded,  and  that  which  is  cut  into 
dentils  left. 


DECORATION. 


XXIII.  THE  EDGE  AND  FILLET. 


275 


more  tlian  an  inch  or  an  incli  and  a  half  long  :  the  fnllj 
developed  dentil  of  the  later  Gothic  is  often  as  much  as  four 
or  five  in  length,  by  one  and  a  half  in  breadth) ;  but  they  are 
all  somewhat  rare,  compared  to  the  true  or  armor  dentil, 
above  described.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  one  or  two 
nnicpie  conditions,  which  will  be  noted  in  the  buildings  where 
they  occur.^^  The  Ducal  Palace  furnishes  three  anomalies  in 
the  arch,  dogtooth,  and  dentil :  it  has  a  hyperbolic  arch,  as 
noted  above,  Chap.  X.,  §  xv. ;  it  has  a  double-fanged  dog- 
tooth  in  the  rings  of  the  spiral  shafts  on  its  angles  ;  and, 
finally,  it  has  a  dentil  with  concave  sides,  of  which  the  section 
and  two  of  the  blocks,  real  size,  are  given  in  Plate  XIY.  The 
labor  of  obtaining  this  difficult  profile  has,  however,  been 
thrown  away  ;  for  the  effect  of  the  dentil  at  ten  feet  distance 
is  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  the  usual  form  :  and  the  reader 
may  consider  the  dogtooth  and  dentil  in  that  plate  as  fairly 
representing  the  common  use  of  them  in  the  Venetian  Gothic. 

§  XVI.  I  am  aware  of  no  other  form  of  fillet  decoration 
requiring  notice:  in  the  Xorthern  Gothic,  the  fillet  is  em¬ 
ployed  chiefly  to  give  severity  or  flatness  to  mouldings  su]-)- 
posed  to  be  too  much  rounded,  and  is  therefore  generally 
plain.  It  is  itself  an  ugly  moulding,  and,  when  thus  em¬ 
ployed,  is  merely  a  foil  for  others,  of  which,  however,  it  at  last 
usurped  the  place,  and  became  one  of.  the  most  painful  fea¬ 
tures  in  the  debased  Gothic  both  of  Italy  and  the  Xorth. 

*  As,  however,  we  shall  not  probably  be  led  either  to  Bergamo  or 
Bologna,  I  may  mention  here  a  ciu'iously  rich  use  of  the  dentil,  entirely 
covering  the  foliation  and  tracery  of  a  niche  on  the  outside  of  the  duomo 
of  Bergamo  ;  and  a  roll,  entirely  incrusted,  as  the  handle  of  a  mace  often 
is  with  nails,  with  massy  dogteeth  or  nail-heads,  on  the  door  of  the  Pepoli 
palace  of  Bologna. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 


THE  KOLL  AND  RECESS. 

§  I.  I  HAVE  classed  these  two  means  of  architectural  effect 
together,  because  the  one  is  in  most  cases  the  negative  of  the 
other,  and  is  used  to  relieve  it  exactly  as  shadow  relieves  light ; 
recess  alternating  with  roll,  not  only  in  lateral,  hut  in  succes¬ 
sive  order;  not  merely  side  by  side  with  each  other,  but  inter¬ 
rupted  the  one  by  the  other  in  their  own  lines.  A  recess  itself 
has  properly  no  decoration ;  but  its  depth  gives  value  to  the 
decoration  which  flanks,  encloses,  or  interrupts  it,  and  the 
form  which  interrupts  it  best  is  the  roll. 

§  II.  I  use  the  word  roll  generally  for  any  mouldings 
which  present  to  the  eye  somewhat  the  appearance  of  being 
cylindrical,  and  look  like  round  rods.  When  upright,  they  are 
in  appearance,  if  not  in  fact,  small  shafts ;  and  are  a  kind  of 
bent  shaft,  even  when  used  in  archivolts  and  traceries  ; — when 
horizontal,  they  confuse  themselves  with  cornices,  and  are,  in 
fact,  generally  to  be  considered  as  the  best  means  of  drawing 
an  architectural  line  in  any  direction,  the  soft  curve  of  their 
side  obtaining  some  shadow  at  nearly  all  times  of  the  day,  and 
that  more  tender  and  grateful  to  the  eye  than  can  be  obtained 
either  by  an  incision  or  by  any  other  form  of  projection. 

§  III.  Their  decorative  power  is,  however,  too  slight  for 
rich  work,  and  they  frequently  require,  like  the  angle  and  the 
flllet,  to  be  rendered  interesting  by  subdivision  or  minor  orna¬ 
ment  of  their  own.  When  the  roll  is  small,  this  is  effected, 
exactly  as  in  the  case  of  the  flllet,  by  cutting  pieces  out  of  it ; 
giving  in  the  simplest  results  what  is  called  the  Norman  billet 
moulding  :  and  when  the  cuts  are  given  in  couples,  and  the 
pieces  rounded  into  spheres  and  almonds,  we  have  the  ordinary 


DECOKATION. 


XXIV.  THE  EOLL  AND  EECESS. 


277 


Greek  liead,  both  of  them  too  well  known  to  require  illustra¬ 
tion.  The  Xorniau  billet  we  shall  not  meet  with  in  Yenice  ; 
the  bead  constantly  occurs  in  Byzantine,  and  of  course  in 
Benaissance  work.  In  Plate  IX.,  Fig.  17,  there  is  a  remarka¬ 
ble  example  of  its  early  treatment,  where  the  cuts  in  it  are  left 
sharp. 

§  IV.  But  the  roll,  if  it  be  of  any  size,  deserves  better  treat¬ 
ment.  Its  rounded  surface  is  too  beautiful  to  be  cut  away  in 
notches ;  and  it  is  rather  to  be  covered  with  flat  chasing  or  in¬ 
laid  patterns.  Thus  ornamented,  it  gradually  blends  itself  with 
the  true  shaft,  both  in  the  Romanesque  work  of  the  Xorth,  and 
in  the  Italian  connected  schools ;  and  the  patterns  used  for  it 
are  those  used  for  shaft  decoration  in  general. 

§  V.  But,  as  alternating  with  the  recess,  it  has  a  decoration 
peculiar  to  itself.  Y^e  have  often,  in  the  preceding  chapters, 
noted  the  fondness  of  the  Northern  builders  for  deep  shade 
and  hollowness  in  their  mouldings ;  and  in  the  second  chajiter 
of  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  the  changes  are  described  which  re¬ 
duced  the  massive  roll  mouldings  of  the  early  Gothic  to  a 
sei'ies  of  recesses,  separated  by  bars  of  light.  The  shape  of 
these  recesses  is  at  present  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  us :  it 
was,  indeed,  endlessly  varied  ;  but  needlessly,  for  the  value  of 
a  recess  is  in  its  darkness,  and  its  darkness  disguises  its  form. 
But  it  was  not  in  mere  wanton  indulgence  of  their  love  of 
shade  that  the  Flamboyant  builders  deepened  the  furrows  of 
their  mouldings :  they  had  found  a  means  of  decorating  those 
furrows  as  rich  as  it  was  expressive,  and  the  entire  framework 
of  their  architecture  was  designed  with  a  view  to  the  effect  of 
this  decoration  ;  where  the  ornament  ceases,  the  framework  is 
meagre  and  mean  :  but  the  ornament  is,  in  the  best  examples  of 
the  style,  unceasing. 

§  VI.  It  is,  in  fact,  an  ornament  formed  by  the  ghosts  or 
anatomies  of  the  old  shafts,  left  in  the  furrows  which  had 
taken  their  place.  Every  here  and  there,  a  fragment  of  a  roll 
or  shaft  is  left  in  the  recess  or  furrow :  a  billet-moulding  on  a 
huge  scale,  but  a  billet-moulding  reduced  to  a  skeleton  ;  for 
the  fragments  of  roll  are  cut  hollow,  and  woi'ked  into  mere 


278 


XXIV.  THE  HOLE  AND  RECESS. 


DECORATION. 


entanglement  of  stony  fibres,  witli  the  gloom  of  the  recess 
shown  through  them.  These  ghost  rolls,  forming  sometimes 
pedertals,  sometimes  canopies,  sometimes  covering  the  whole 
recess  with  an  arch  of  tracerv,  beneath  which  it  runs  like  a 
tunnel,  are  the  peculiar  decorations  of  the  Flamboyant  Gothic. 

§  VII.  Now  observe,  in  all  kinds  of  decoration,  we  must 
keep  carefully  under  separate  heads,  the  consideration  of  the 
changes  wrought  in  the  mere  physical  form,  and  in  the  intel¬ 
lectual  purpose  of  ornament.  The  relations  of  the  canopy  to 
the  statue  it  shelters,  are  to  be  considered  altogether  distinctly 
from  those  of  the  canopy  to  the  building  which  it  decorates. 
In  its  earliest  conditions  the  canopy  is  partly  confused  with 
representations  of  miniature  architecture  :  it  is  sometimes  a 
small  temple  or  gateway,  sometimes  a  honorary  addition  to 
the  pomp  of  a  saint,  a  covering  to  his  throne,  or  to  his  shrine  ; 
and  this  canopy  is  often  expressed  in  bas-relief  (as  in  painting), 
without  much  reference  to  tlie  great  requirements  of  the  build¬ 
ing.  At  other  times  it  is  a  real  protection  to  the  statue,  and  is 
enlarged  into  a  complete  pinnacle,  carried  on  proper  shafts,  and 
boldly  roofed.  But  in  the  late  northern  system  the  canopies 
are  neither  expressive  nor  protective.  They  are  a  kind  of 
stone  lace-work,  required  for  the  ornamentation  of  the  build¬ 
ing,  for  which  the  statues  are  often  little  more  than  an  excuse, 
and  of  which  the  physical  character  is,  as  above  described,  that 
of  ghosts  of  departed  shafts. 

§  viir.  There  is,  of  course,  much  rich  tabernacle  work 
which  will  not  come  literally  under  this  head,  much  which  is 
straggling  or  flat  in  its  plan,  connecting  itself  gradually  with 
the  ordinary  forms  of  independent  shrines  and  tombs ;  but  the 
general  idea  of  all  tabernacle  work  is  inai-ked  in  the  common 
phrase  of  a  “niche,”  that  is  to  say  a  hollow  intended  for  a 
statue,  and  crowned  by  a  canopy;  and  this  niche  decoration 
only  reaches  its  full  development  when  the  Flamboyant  hol¬ 
lows  are  cut  deepest,  and  when  the  manner  and  S})irit  of  sculp¬ 
ture  had  so  much  lost  their  purity  and  intensity  that  it  became 
desirable  to  draw  the  eye  away  from  the  statue  to  its  cover¬ 
ing,  so  that  at  last  the  canopy  became  the  more  important  of 


DECORATION. 


XXIT.  THE  EOLL  AXD  RECESS. 


/V  i  uF 

the  two,  and  is  itself  so  beautiful  that  we  are  often  contented 
with  architecture  from  which  profanity  has  struck  the  statues, 
if  only  the  canopies  are  left ;  and  consequently,  in  our  modern 
Ingenuity,  even  set  up  canopies  where  we  have  no  intention  of 
setting  statues. 

§.  IX.  It  is  a  pity  that  thus  we  have  no  really  noble  example 
of  the  effect  of  the  statue  in  the  recesses  of  architecture :  for 
the  Flamboyant  recess  was  not  so  much  a  preparation  for  it 
as  a  gulf  which  swallowed  it  up.  When  statues  were  most 
earnestly  designed,  they  were  thrust  forward  in  all  kinds  of 
places,  often  in  front  of  the  pillars,  as  at  Amiens,  awkwardly 
enough,  but  with  manly  respect  to  the  purpose  of  the  figures. 
The  Flamboyant  hollows  yawned  at  their  sides,  the  statues 
fell  back  into  them,  and  nearly  disappeared,  and  a  flash  of 
flame  in  the  shape  of  a  canopy  rose  as  they  expired. 

§  X.  I  do  not  feel  myself  capable  at  present  of  speaking 
with  perfect  justice  of  this  niche  ornament  of  the  north,  my 
late  studies  in  Italy  having  somewhat  destroyed  my  sympathies 
with  it.  But  I  once  loved  it  intensely,  and  will  not  say  any¬ 
thing  to  depreciate  it  now,  save  only  this,  that  wdiile  I  have 
studied  long  at  Abbeville,  without  in  the  least  finding  that  it 
made  me  care  less  for  Yerona,  I  never  remained  long  in 
Yerona  without  feeling  some  doubt  of  the  nobility  of  Abbe¬ 
ville. 

§  Yi.  Becess  decoration  by  leaf  mouldings  is  constantly  and 
beautifully  associated  in  the  north  with  niche  decoration,  but 
requires  no  special  notice,  the  recess  in  such  cases  being  used 
merely  to  give  value  to  the  leafage  by  its  gloom,  and  the  dif¬ 
ference  between  such  conditions  and  those  of  the  south  being 
merely  that  in  the  one  the  leaves  are  laid  across  a  hollow,  and 
in  the  other  over  a  solid  surface  ;  but  in  neither  of  the  schools 
exclusively  so,  each  in  some  degree  intermingling  the  method 
of  the  other. 

§  XII.  Finally  the  recess  decoration  by  the  ball  flower  is 
very  definite  and  characteristic,  found,  I  believe,  chiefly  in 
English  work.  It  consists  merely  in  leaving  a  small  boss  or 
sphere,  fixed,  as  it  were,  at  intervals  in  the  hollows ;  such 


2S0 


XXIV.  THE  KOLL  AN'D  EECESS. 


DECORATION. 


bosses  being  afterwards  carved  into  roses,  or  other  ornamental 
forms,  and  sometimes  lifted  quite  np  out  of  the  hollow,  on 
projecting  processes,  like  vertebrse,  so  as  to  make  them  more 
conspicuous,  as  throughout  the  decoration  of  the  cathedral  of 
Bourges. 

The  value  of  this  ornament  is  chiefly  in  the  spotted  char 
acter  which  it  gives  to  the  lines  of  mouldings  seen  from  a  dis¬ 
tance.  It  is  very  rich  and  delightful  when  not  used  in  excess ; 
but  it  would  satiate  and  weary  the  eye  if  it  were  ever  used  in 
general  architecture.  The  spire  of  Salisbury,  and  of  St. 
Mary’s  at  Oxford,  are  agreeable  as  isolated  masses ;  but  if  an 
I  entire  street  were  built  with  this  spotty  decoration  at  every 
casement,  we  could  not  traverse  it  to  the  end  without  disgust. 
It  is  only  another  example  of  the  constant  aim  at  piquancy  of 
effect  which  characterised  the  northern  builders ;  an  ingenious 
but  somewhat  vulgar  effort  to  give  interest  to  their  grey  masses 
of  coarse  stone,  without  overtaking  their  powers  either  of  im 
vention  or  execution.  TVe  will  thank  them  for  it  without 
blame  or  praise,  and  pass  on. 


CHAPTEK  XXY. 


THE  EASE. 

§  I.  We  know  now  as  much  as  is  needful  respecting  the 
methods  of  minor  and  universal  decorations,  which  were  dis¬ 
tinguished  in  Chapter  XXII.,  §  m.,  from  the  ornament  which 
has  special  relation  to  particular  parts.  This  local  oinament, 
which,  it  will  be  remembered,  we  arranged  in  §  ii.  of  the  same 
chapter  under  five  heads,  we  have  next,  under  those  heads,  to 
consider.  And,  first,  the  ornament  of  the  bases,  both  of  walls 
and  shafts. 

It  was  noticed  in  our  account  of  the  divisions  of  a  wall,  that 
there  are  something  in  those  divisions  like  the  beginning,  the 
several  courses,  and  the  close  of  a  human  life.  And  as,  in  all 
well-conducted  lives,  the  hard  work,  and  roughing,  and  gaining 
of  strength  come  first,  the  honor  or  decoration  in  certain 
intervals  during  their  course,  but  most  of  all  in  their  close,  so, 
in  general,  the  base  of  the  wall,  which  is  its  beginning  of  labor, 
will  bear  least  decoration,  'its  body  more,  especially  those 
epochs  of  rest  called  its  string  courses ;  but  its  crown  or  coinice 
most  of  all.  Still,  in  some  buildings,  all  these  are  decorated 
richly,  though  the  last  most ;  and  in  others,  when  the  base  is 
well  protected  and  yet  conspicuous,  it  may  probably  receive 

even  more  decoration  than  other  parts. 

§  II.  Now,  the  main  things  to  be  expressed  in  a  base  are  its 
levelness  and  evenness.  We  cannot  do  better  than  construct 
the  several  members  of  the  base,  as  developed  in  Fig.  II.,  p. 
55.  each  of  a  different  colored  marble,  so  as  to  produce 
marked  level  bars  of  color  all  along  the  foundation.  This  is 
exquisitely  done  in  all  the  Italian  elaborate  wall  bases  ;  that  of 
St.'  Anastasia  at  Verona  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  existing,  for 


283 


XXY.  THE  BASE. 


DECORATION. 


play  of  color;  that  of  Giotto’s  campanile  is  on, the  whole  the 
most  beautifully  finished.  Then,  on  the  vertical  portions,  h, 
c,  we  may  put  what  patterns  in  mosaic  we  j^lease,  so  that  they 
be  not  too  rich ;  but  if  we  choose  rather  to  have  sculpture  (or 
must  have  it  for  want  of  stones  to  inlay),  then  observe  that  all 
sculpture  on  bases  must  be  in  panels,  or  it  will  soon  be  worn 
away,  and  that  a  plain  panelling  is  often  good  without  any 
other  ornament.  The  member  h,  which  in  St.  Mark’s  is  subor¬ 
dinate,  and  G,  which  is  expanded  into  a  seat,  are  both  of  them 
decorated  with  simple  but  exquisitely-finished  panelling,  in  red 
and  white  or  green  and  white  marble  ;  and  the  member  e  is  in 
bases  of  this  kind  very  valuable,  as  an  expression  of  a  firm 
be<?inninff  of  the  substance  of  the  wall  itself.  This  member 
has  been  of  no  service  to  us  hitherto,  and  was  unnoticed  in  the 
chapters  on  construction  ;  but  it  was  expressed  in  the  figure 
of  the  wall  base,  on  account  of  its  great  value  when  the  foun¬ 
dation  is  of  stone  and  the  wall  of  brick  (coated  or  not).  In 
such  cases  it  is  always  better  to  add  the  course  e,  above  the 
slope  of  the  base,  than  abruptly  to  begin  the  common  masonry 
of  the  wall. 

§  III.  It  is,  however,  with  the  member  d,  or  Xb,  that  we 
are  most  seriouslv  concerned  ;  for  this  being;  the  essential  fea- 
ture  of  all  bases,  and  the  true  preparation  for  the  wall  or  shaft, 
it  is  most  necessary  that  here,  if  anywhere,  we  should  have 
full  expression  of  levelness  and  precision  ;  and  farther,  that,  if 
possible,  the  eye  should  not  be  suffered  to  rest  on  the  points 
of  junction  of  the  stones,  which  would  give  an  effect  of 
instability.  Both  these  objects  are  accomplished  by  attracting 
the  eye  to  two  rolls,  separated  by  a  deep  hollow,  in  the  mem¬ 
ber  d  itself.  The  bold  projections  of  their  mouldings  entirely 
prevent  the  attention  from  being  drawn  to  the  joints  of  the 
masonry,  and  besides  form  a  simple  but  beautifully  connected 
group  of  bars  of  shadow,  which  express,  in  their  perfect 
parallelism,  the  absolute  levelness  of  the  foundation. 

§  IV.  I  need  hardly  give  any  perspective  drawing  of  an 
arrangement  which  must  be  perfectly  familiar  to  the  reader, 
as  occurring  under  nearly  every  column  of  the  too  numerous 


X 


PROFILES  OF  BASES. 


DECORATION. 


x:;y.  the  base. 


283 


classical  buildings  all  over  Europe.  But  I  may  name  tlie  base 
of  the  Bank  of  England  as  furnisbing  a  very  simple  instance 
of  tlie  group,  with  a  square  instead  of  a  rounded  hollow,  both 
forming  the  base  of  the  wall,  and  gathering  into  that  of  the 
shafts  as  they  occur ;  while  the  bases  of  the  pillars  of  the 
facade  of  the  British  Museum  are  as  good  examples  as  the 
reader  can  study  on  a  larger  scale. 

§  V.  I  believe  this  group  of  mouldings  was  first  invented 
by  the  Greeks,  and  it  has  never  been  materially  improved,  as 
far  as  its  peculiar  purpose  is  concerned  ;*  the  classical  attempts 
at  its  variation  being  the  ugliest :  one,  the  using  a  single  roll 
of  larger  size,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Duke  of  York’s  column, 
which  therefore  looks  as  if  it  stood  on  a  large  sausage  (the 
Monument  has  the  same  base,  but  more  concealed  by  pedestal 
decoration) :  another,  the  using  two  rolls  without  the  inter¬ 
mediate  cavetto, — a  condition  hardly  less  awkward,  and  which 
may  be  studied  to  advantage  in  the  wall  and  shaftbases  of  the 
Athenneum  Club-house  :  and  another,  the  introduction  of  what 
are  called  fillets  between  the  rolls,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  pillars 
of  Hanover  Chapel,  Regent  Street,  which  look,  in  conse¬ 
quence,  as  if  they  were  standing  upon  a  pile  of  pewter  col¬ 
lection  plates.  But  the  only  successful  changes  have  been 
mediaeval ;  and  their  nature  will  be  at  once  understood  by  a 
glance  at  the  varieties  given  on  the  opposite  page.  It  will  be 
well  first  to  give  the  buildings  in  which  they  occur,  in  order. 


1.  Santa  Fosca,  Torcello. 

2.  North  transept,  St.  Mark’s,  Ven¬ 

ice. 

3.  Nave,  Torcello. 

4.  Nave,  Torcello. 

5.  South  transept,  St.  Mark’s. 

6.  Northern  portico,  upper  shafts, 

St.  Mark’s. 


7.  Another  of  the  same  group. 

8.  Cortile  of  St.  Ambrogio,  Milan. 

9.  Nave  shafts,  St.  Michele,  Pavia. 

10.  Outside  wall  base,  St.  Mark’s, 

Venice. 

11.  Fondaco  de’  Turchi,  Venice. 

12.  Nave,  Vienne,  France. 

13.  Fondaco  de’  Turchi,  Venice. 


*  Another  most  important  reason  for  the  peculiar  sufficiency  and  value 
of  this  base,  especially  as  opposed  to  the  bulging  forms  of  the  single  or 
double  roll,  without  the  cavetto,  has  been  suggested  by  the  writer  of  the 
Essay  on  the  ^Esthetics  of  Gothic  Architecture  in  the  British  Quarterly  for 
August,  1849  “The  xVttic  base  recedes  at  the  point  where,  if  it  suffered 
from  superincumbent  weight,  it  would  bulge  out.” 


284 


XXV.  THE  BASE. 


DECORATIOX. 


14.  Ca’  Giustiniani,  Venice. 

15.  Byzantine  fragment,  Venice. 

16.  St.  Mark’s,  upper  Colonnade. 

17.  Ducal  Palace,  Venice  (win¬ 

dows.) 

18.  Ca’  Falier,  Venice. 

19.  St.  Zeno,  Verona. 

20.  San  Stefano,  Venice. 


21.  Ducal  Palace,  Venice  (windows.) 

22.  Nave,  Salisbury. 

23.  Santa  Fosca,  Torcello. 

24.  Nave,  Lyons  Cathedral. 

25.  Notre  Dame,  Dijon. 

26.  Nave,  Bourges  Cathedral. 

27.  Nave,  Mortain  (Normand}'). 

28.  Nave,  Kouen  Cathedral. 


§  VI.  Eigliteen  out  of  tlie  twentj^-eiglit  varieties  are  Yene- 
tiaii,  being  bases  to  which  I  shall  have  need  of  future  refer¬ 
ence  ;  but  the  interspersed  examples,  8,  9,  12,  and  19,  from 
Milan,  Pavia,  Yienne  (France),  and  Yerona,  show  the  exactly 
correspondent  conditions  of  the  Eomanesque  base  at  the  period, 
thronghont  the  centre  of  Europe.  The  last  five  examples 
show  the  changes  etfected  by  the  French  Gothic  architects :  the 
Salisbury  base  (22)  I  have  only  introduced  to  show  its  dulness 
and  vulgarity  beside  them ;  and  23,  from  Torcello,  for  a  special 
reason,  in  that  place. 

§  VII.  The  reader  will  observe  that  the  two  bases,  8  and  9, 
from  the  two  most  important  Lombardic  churches  of  Italy, 
St.  Ambrogio  of  Milan  and  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  mark  the 
character  of  the  barbaric  base  founded  on  pure  Roman  models, 
sometimes  approximating  to  such  models  very  closely ;  and 
the  varieties  10,  11,  13,  16  are  Byzantine  types,  also  founded 
on  Roman  models.  But  in  the  bases  1  to  7  inclusive,  and, 
still  more  characteristically,  in  23  below,  there  is  evidently 
an  original  element,  a  tendency  to  use  the  fillet  and  hollow 
instead  of  the  roll,  which  is  eminently  Gothic ;  which  in  the 
base  3  reminds  one  even  of  Flamboyant  conditions,  and  is 
excessively  remarkable  as  occurring  in  Italian  work  certainly 
not  later  than  the  tenth  century,  taking  even  the  date  of  the 
last  rebuilding  of  theBuomo  of  Torcello,  though  I  am  strongly 
inclined  to  consider  these  bases  portions  of  the  original  church. 
And  I  have  therefore  put  the  base  23  among  the  Gothic  group 
to  which  it  has  so  strong  relationship,  though,  on  the  last  sup¬ 
position,  five  centuries  older  than  the  earliest  of  the  five 
terminal  examples ;  and  it  is  still  more  remarkable  because  it 
reverses  the  usual  treatment  of  the  lower  roll,  which  is  in 


DCCOKATTOIT. 


XXV.  THE  B.VSE. 


2S5 


general  a  tolerably  accurate  test  of  tbe  age  of  a  base,  in  the 
degree  of  its  projection.  Tims,  in  tlie  examples  2,  3,  4,  5,  9, 
10,  12,  tlie  lower  roll  is  liarclly  rounded  at  all,  and  diametri¬ 
cally  opposed  to  the  late  Gothic  conditions,  24  to  28,  in  which 
it  advances  gradually,  like  a  wave  preparing  to  break,  and  at 
last  is  actually  seen  curling  over  with  the  long-backed  rush  of 
surf  upon  the  shore.  Yet  the  Torcello  base  resembles  these 
Gothic  ones  both  in  expansion  beneath  and  in  depth  of  cavetto 
above. 

§  VIII.  There  can  be  no  question  of  the  ineffable  superiority 
of  these  Gothic  bases,  in  grace  of  profile,  to  any  ever  invented 
by  the  ancients.  But  they  have  all  two  great  faults :  They 
seem,  in  the  first  place,  to  have  been  designed  without  suffi¬ 
cient  reference  to  the  necessity  of  their  being  usually  seen 
from  above ;  their  grace  of  profile  cannot  be  estimated  -when 
so  seen,  and  their  excessive  expansion  gives  them  an  appear¬ 
ance  of  flatness  and  separation  from  the  shaft,  as  if  they  had 
splashed  out  under  its  pressure :  in  the  second  place  their 
cavetto  is  so  deeply  cut  that  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  black 
fissure  between  the  members  of  the  base  ;  and  in  the  Lyons 
and  Bourges  shafts,  24  and  2G,  it  is  impossible  to  conquer  the 
idea  suggested  by  it,  that  the  two  stones  above  and  below  have 
been  intended  to  join  close,  but  that  some  pebbles  have  got  in 
and  kept  them  from  fitting ;  one  is  always  expecting  the 
pebbles  to  be  crushed,  and  the  shaft  to  settle  into  its  place  with 
a  thunder-clap. 

§  IX.  For  these  reasons,  I  said  that  the  profile  of  the  pure 
classic  base  had  hardly  been  materially  improved ;  but  the 
various  conditions  of  it  are  beautiful  or  commonplace,  in  pro¬ 
portion  to  the  variety  of  proportion  among  their  lines  and  the 
'delicacy  of  their  curvatures ;  that  is  to  say,  the  expression  of 
characters  like  those  of  the  abstract  lines  in  Plate  YII. 

The  five  best  profiles  in  Plate  X.  are  10,  17,  19,  20,  21 ;  10 
is  jieculiarly  beautiful  in  the  opposition  between  tlie  bold  pro¬ 
jection  of  its  upper  roll,  and  the  delicate  leafy  curvature  of  its 
lower ;  and  this  and  21  may  be  taken  as  nearly  perfect  types, 
the  one  of  the  steep,  the  other  of  the  expansive  basic  profiles. 


286 


5XV,  THE  BASE. 


DECORATION. 


The  characters  of  all,  however,  are  so  dependent  upon  their 
place  and  expression,  that  it  is  unfair  to  judge  them  thus  sepa¬ 
rately  ;  and  the  precision  of  curvature  is  a  matter  of  so  small 
consequence  in  general  effect,  that  we  need  not  here  puisne  the 
subject  farther. 

'§  X.  We  have  thus  far,  however,  considered  only  the  lines 
of  moulding  in  the  member  X  b,  whether  of  wall  or  shaft  base. 
But  the  reader  will  remember  that  in  our  best  shaft  base,  in 
Fig.  XII.  (p.  78),  certain  props  or  spurs  were  applied  to  the 
.  slope  of  X  b ;  but  now  that 

X  b  is  divided  into  these 
delicate  mouldings,  we  can¬ 
not  conveniently  apply  the 
spur  to  its  irregular  profile  ; 
we  must  be  content  to  set  it 
acainst  the  lower  roll.  Lot 
the  upper  edge  of  this  low¬ 
er  roll  be  the  curved  line 
here,  a,  d,  e,  h,  Fig.  LIX., 
and  c  the  angle  of  the  square 
plinth  projecting  beneath 
it.  Then  the  spur,  applied 
as  we  saw  in  Chap.  A  II., 

will  be  of  some  such  form  as  the  triangle  c  e  Fig.  LIX. 

§  XI.  Xow  it  has  just  been  stated  that  it  is  of  small  im]»oi- 
tance  whether  the  abstract  lines  of  the  profile  of  a  base  mould¬ 


ing  be  fine  or  not,  because  we  rarely  stoop  doun  to  look  at 
them.  But  this  triangular  spur  is  nearly  always  seen  from 
above,  and  the  eye  is  drawn  to  it  as  one  of  the  most  important 
features  of  the  whole  base  ;  therefore  it  is  a  point  of  immediate 
necessity  to  substitute  for  its  harsh  right  lines  {c  d,  c  e)  some 


curve  of  noble  abstract  character. 

§  XII.  I  mentioned,  in  speaking  of  the  line  of  the  salvia  leaf 
at  p.  224,  that  I  had  marked  off  the  portion  of  it,  x  y,  because 
I  thought  it  likely  to  be  generally  useful  to  us  afterwards ;  and 
I  promised  the  reader  that  as  he  had  built,  so  he  should  deco¬ 
rate  his  edifice  at  his  own  free  will.  If,  therefore,  he  likes  the 


DECORATION. 


X:XT.  THE  BASE. 


28? 


above  triangular  spur,  c  d  all  means  let  him  keep  it ;  but 
if  be  be  on  tlie  whole  dissatisfied  with  it,  I  may  be  permitted, 
perhaps,  to  advise  him  to  set  to  work  like  a  tapestry  bee,  to  cut 
o£E  the  little  bit  of  line  of  salvia  leaf  x  y,  and  try  how  he  can 
best  substitute  it  for  the  awkward  lines  c  d  c  e.  He  may  try  it 
any  way  that  he  likes ;  but  if  he  puts  the  salvia  curvature 
inside  the  present  lines,  he  will  find  the  spur  looks  weak,  and  I 
think  he  will  determine  at  last  on  placing  it  as  I  have  done  at 
c  d,  c  <?,  Fig.  LX.  (If  the  reader  will  be  at  the  pains  to  trans¬ 
fer  the  salvia  leaf  line  with  tracing  paper,  he  will  find  it  accu¬ 
rately  used  in  this  figure.)  Then  I  merely  add  an  outer  circular 
line  to  represent  the  outer  swell  of  the  roll  against  which  the 
spur  is  set,  and  I  put  another  such  spur  to  the  opposite  corner 


Fig.  LX. 


of  the  square,  and  we  have  the  half  base,  Fig.  LX.,  which  is  a 
general  type  of  the  best  Gothic  bases  in  existence,  being  very 
nearly  that  of  the  upper  shafts  of  the  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice. 
In  those  shafts  the  quadrant  a  h,  or  the  upper  edge  of  the  lower 
roll,  is  2  feet  If  inches  round,  and  the  liase  of  the  spur  d  e,  is 
10  inches ;  the  line  d  e  being  therefore  to  &  as  10  to  25f.  In 
Fig.  LX.  it  is  as  10  to  24:,  the  measurement  being  easier  and  the 
type  somewhat  more  generally  representative  of  the  best,  i.  e. 
broadest,  spurs  of  Italian  Gothic. 

§  XIII.  Xow,  the  reader  is  to  remember,  there  is  nothing 


288 


XXV.  THE  EASE. 


tfECORATTON. 


magical  in  salvia  leaves :  the  line  I  take  from  them  happened 
merely  to  fall  conveniently  on  the  page,  and  might  as  well 
have  been  taken  from  anything  else  ;  it  is  simply  its  character 
of  gradated  curvature  which  fits  it  for  our  use.  On  Plate  XI., 
opposite,  I  have  given  plans  of  the  spurs  and  quadrants  of 
twelve  Italian  and  three  Northern  bases ;  these  latter  (13),  from 
Bourges,  (14)  from  Lyons,  (15)  from  Rouen,  are  given  merely 
to  show  the  Northern  disposition  to  break  up  bounding  lines, 
and  lose  breadth  in  picturesqueness.  These  Northern  bases 
look  the  prettiest  in  this  plate,  because  this  variation  of  the 
outline  is  nearly  all  the  ornament  they  have,  being  cut  very 
rudely;  but  the  Italian  bases  above  them  are  merely  prepared 
by  their  simple  outlines  for  far  richer  decoration  at  the  next 
step,  as  we  shall  see  presently.  The  Northern  bases  are  to  be 
noted  also  for  another  grand  error :  the  projection  of  the  roll 
beyond  the  square  plinth,  of  which  the  corner  is  seen,  in  vari¬ 
ous  degrees  of  advancement,  in  the  three  examples.  13  is,  the 
base  whose  profile  is  No.  26  in  Plate  X. ;  14  is  24  in  the  same 
jfiate  ;  and  15  is  28. 

§  XIV.  The  Italian  bases  are  the  following ;  all,  except  7 
and  10,  being  Yenetian:  1  and  2,  upper  colonnade,  St.  Mark’s; 
3,  Ca’  Falier;  4,  lower  colonnade,  and  5,  transept,  St.  Mark’s; 
6,  from  the  Church  of  St.  John  and  Paul ;  7,  from  the  tomb 
near  St.  Anastasia, Verona,  described  above  (p.  142);  8  and  9, 
Fon  daco  de’  Turchi,  Venice;  10,  tomb  of  Can  Mastino  della 
Scala,  Verona ;  11,  San  Stefano,  Venice ;  12,  Ducal  Palace, 
Venice,  upper  colonnade.  The  Nos.  3,  8,  9,  11  are  the  bases 
whose  profiles  are  respectively  Nos.  18,  11, 13,  and  20  in  Plate 
X.  The  flat  surfaces  of  the  basic  plinths  are  here  shaded ;  and 
in  the  lower  corner  of  the  square  occupied  by  each  quadrant  is 
put,  also  shaded,  the  central  profile  of  each  spur,  from  its  root 
at  the  roll  of  the  base  to  its  point ;  those  of  Nos.  1  and  2  being 
conjectural,  for  their  spurs  were  so  rude  and  ugly,  that  I  took 
no  note  of  their  profiles ;  but  they  would  probably  be  as  here 
given.  As  these  bases,  though  here,  for  the  sake  of  compari¬ 
son,  reduced  within  squares  of  equal  size,  in  reality  belong  to 
shafts  of  very  different  size,  9  being  some  six  or  seven  inches 


XI. 


WBISS^ 


PLANS  OF  BASES. 


>■  'C  i** 

^  '  'rKP-:i 


-1 


‘-T  ■'  *  .)v 


:i'-V,:m^ 

>■.•  '*  .’  iTjSb 


iH  -  '• 


'r 


■*/  M.  * 


I'i 


.'  ■*■'  'fi 

f, 


k  '■ 

,  y* 

f  ■ 

^ . 

v^’ 

■'•ft 

,  /  *■* 

•^r  - 

■'  tf' 

'b;  :'-. 

s 

_  4  •  /S' 

^  4.  • 

w: 


tv-  ;,.  i. 


.  at; 


* 

•»  y 


4  j  t  ^ 


.  t 


XII 


DECORATION  OF  BASES. 


7)ECORATION.  XXV.  THE  BASE.  2S!) 

in  diameter,  and  6,  three  or  four  feet,  the  proportionate  size  of 
the  roll  varies  accordingly,  being  largest,  as  in  9,  where  the 
base  is  smallest,  and  in  6  and  12  the  leaf  profile  is  given  on  a 
larger  scale  than  the  plan,  or  its  character  could  not  have  been 
exhibited. 

§  XV.  IS^ow,  in  all  these  spurs,  the  reader  will  observe  that 
jthe  narrowest  are  for  the  most  part  the  earliest.  No.  2,  from 
the  upper  colonnade  of  St.  Mark’s,  is  the  only  instance  I  ever 
saw  of  the  double  spur,  as  transitive  between  the  square  and 
octagon  plinth ;  the  truncated  form,  1,  is  also  rare  and  very 
ugly.  Nos.  3,  4,  5,  7,  and  9  are  the  general  conditions  of  the 
Byzantine  spur ;  8  is  a  very  rare  form  of  plan  in  Byzantine 
work,  but  proved  to  be  so  by  its  rude  level  profile  ;  while  7, 
on  the  contrary,  Byzantine  in  plan,  is  eminently  Gothic  in  the 
profile.  9  to  12  are  from  formed  Gothic  buildings,  equally 
refined  in  their  profile  and  plan. 

§  XVI.  The  character  of  the  profile  is  indeed  much  altered 
by  the  accidental  nature  of  the  surface  decoration  ;  but  the 
importance  of  the  broad  difference  between  the  raised  and  fiat 
profile  will  be  felt  on  glancing  at  the  examples  1  to  6  in  Plate 
XII.  The  three  upper  examples  are  the  Romanesque  types, 
which  occur  as  parallels  with  the  Byzantine  types,  1  to  3  of 
Plate  XI.  Their  plans  would  be  nearly  the  same ;  but  instead 
of  resembling  flat  leaves,  they  are  literally  spurs,  or  claws,  as 
high  as  they  are  broad ;  and  the  third,  from  St.  Michele  of 
Pavia,  appears  to  be  intended  to  have  its  resemblance  to  a 
claw  enforced  by  the  transvei’se  fillet.  1  is  from  St.  Ambrogio, 
Milan  ;  2  from  Yienne,  France.  The  4th  type,  Plate  XII., 
almost  like  the  extremity  of  a  man’s  foot,  is  a  Byzantine  form 
(perhaps  worn  on  the  edges),  from  the  nave  of  St.  Mark’s ; 
and  the  two  next  show  the  unity  of  the  two  principles,  form¬ 
ing  the  perfect  Italian  Gothic  types, — 5,  from  tomb  of  Can 
Signorio  della  Scala,  Yerona;  6,  from  San  Stefano,  Yenice 
(the  base  11  of  Plate  XI.,  in  pei-spective).  The  two  other 
bases,  10  and  12  of  Plate  XI.,  are  conditions  of  the  same  kind, 
showing  the  varieties  of  rise  and  fall  in  exquisite  modulation  ; 
the  10th,  a  type  more  frequent  at  Yerona  than  Yenice,  in 


XXV.  THE  BASE. 


DECORATION. 


yoo 


wliicli  the  spur  profile  overlaps  the  roll,  instead  of  rising  out 
of  it,  and  seems  to  hold  it  down,  as  if  it  were  a  ring  held  by 
sockets.  This  is  a  character  found  both  in  early  and  late  work  ; 
a  kind  of  band,  or  fillet,  appears  to  hold,  and  even  compress, 
the  centre  of  the  roll  in  the  base  of  one  of  the  crypt  shafts  of 
St.  Peter’s,  Oxford,  which  has  also  spurs  at  its  angles ;  and 
long  bands  fiow  over  the  base  of  the  angle  shaft  of  the  Ducal 
Palace  of  Yenice,  next  the  Porta  della  Carta.  ^ 

§  XVII.  When  the  main  contours  of  the  base  are  once  deter¬ 
mined,  its  decoration  is  as  easy  as  it  is  infinite.  I  have  merely 
given,  in  Plate  XII.,  three  examples  to  which  I  shall  need  to 
refer,  hereafter.  Xo.  9  is  a  very  early  and  curious  one;  tlie 
decoration  of  the  base  6  in  Plate  XI.,  representing  a  leaf  turned 
over  and  fiattened  down  ;  or,  rather,  the  idea  of  the  turned 
leaf,  worked  as  well  as  could  be  imagined  on  the  flat  contour 
of  the  spur.  Then  10  is  the  perfect,  but  simplest  possible 
development  of  the  same  idea,  from  the  earliest  bases  of  the 
upper  colonnade  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  that  is  to  say,  the  bases 
of  the  sea  facade  ;  and  7  and  8  are  its  lateral  profile  and  trans¬ 
verse  section.  Pinally,  11  and  12  are  two  of  the  spins  of  the 
later  shafts  of  the  same  colonnade  on  the  Piazzetta  side  (kso. 
12  of  Plate  XI.).  Xo.  11  occurs  on  one  of  these  shafts  only, 
and  is  singularly  beautiful.  I  suspect  it  to  be  earlier  than  the 
other,  which  is  the  characteristic  base  of  the  rest  of  the  series, 
and  already  shows  the  loose,  sensual,  ungoverned  character  of 
fifteenth  century  ornament  in  the  dissoluteness  of  its  rolling. 

§  XVIII.  I  merely  give  these  as  examples  ready  to  my  hand, 
and  necessary  for  future  reference ;  not  as  in  anywise  repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  variety  of  the  Italian  treatment  of  the  genei  al 
contour,  far  less  of  the  endless  caprices  of  the  Is  oi  th.  The 
most  beautiful  base  I  ever  saw,  on  the  whole,  is  a  Byzantine 
one  in  the  Baptistery  of  St.  Mark’s,  in  which  the  spur  profile 
approximates  to  that  of 'Xo.  10  in  Plate  XI. ;  but  it  is  foimed 
by  a  cherub,  who  sweeps  dosvn wards  on  the  wing.  II is  two 
wings,  as  they  half  close,  fonn  the  upper  part  of  the  spur, 
and  the  rise  of  it  in  the  front  is  formed  by  exactly  the  action 
of  Alichino,  swooping  on  the  pitch  lake  ;  “  q[uei  drizzo,  volando, 


DECORATION. 


XXV.  THE  BASE. 


291 


suso  il  petto.”  Blit  it  requires  noble  management  to  confine 
such  a  fancy  within  such  limits.  The  greater  number  of  the 
best  bases  are  formed  of  leaves ;  and  the  reader  may  amuse 
himself  as  he  will  by  endless  inventions  of  them,  from  types 
which  he  may  gather  among  the  weeds  at  the  nearest  roadside. 
The  value  of  the  vegetable  form  is  especially  here,  as  above 
noted.  Chap.  XX.,  §  xxxii.,  its  capability  of  unity  with  the 
mass  of  the  base,  and  of  being  suggested  by  few  lines ;  none 
but  the  Xorthern  Gothic  architects  are  able  to  introduce  entire 
animal  forms  in  this  position  with  perfect  success.  There  is  a 
beautiful  instance  at  the  north  door  of  the  west  front  of  Rouen  ; 
a  lizard  pausing  and  curling  himself  round  a  little  in  the  angle  ; 
one  expects  him  the  next  instant  to  lash  round  the  shaft  and 
vanish  :  and  we  may  with  advantage  compare  this  base  with 
those  of  Renaissance  Scuola  di  San  Rocca*  at  Venice,  in 
which  the  architect,  imitating  the  mediaeval  bases,  which  he 
did  not  understand,  has  put  an  elephant,  four  inches  higher, 
in  the  same  position. 

§  XIX.  I  have  not  in  this  chapter  spoken  at  all  of  the  profiles 
which  are  given  in  Xorthern  architecture  to  the  projections 
of  the  lower  members  of  the  base,  h  and  c  in  Fig.  II.,  nor  of 
the  methods  in  which  both  these,  and  the  rolls  of  the  mould¬ 
ings  in  Plate  X.,  are  decorated,  especially  in  Roman  architec¬ 
ture,  with  superadded  chainwork  or  chasing  of  various  patterns.. 
Of  the  first  I  have  not  spoken,  because  I  shall  have  no  occasion 
to  allude  to  them  in  the  following  essay  ;  nor  of  the  second, 
because  I  consider  them  barbarisms.  Decorated  rolls  and  dec¬ 
orated  ogee  profiles,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  base  of  the  Arc 
de  I’Etoile  at  Paris,  are  among  the  richest  and  farthest  refine¬ 
ments  of  decorativ'e  appliances;  and  they  ought  always  to  be 
reserved  for  jambs,  cornices,  and  archivolts  :  if  you  begin  with 
them  in  the  base,  you  have  no  power  of  refining  your  decora¬ 
tions  as  you  ascend,  and,  which  is  still  worse,  you  put  your 

*  I  have  put  in  Appendix  24,  “  Renaissance  Bases,”  my  memorandum 
written  respecting  this  building  on  the  spot.  But  the  reader  had  better 
delay  referring  to  it,  until  we  have  completedour  examination  of  ornaments 
in  snafts  and  capitals. 


202 


XXV.  THE  BASE. 


DECORATION. 


most  delicate  work  on  the  jutting  portions  of  the  foundation, 
—the  very  portions  which  are  most  exposed  to  abrasion.  The 
best  expression  of  a  base  is  that  of  stern  endurance, — the  look 
of  being  able  to  bear  roughing ;  or,  if  the  whole  building  is  so 
delicate  that  no  one  can  be  expected  to  treat  even  its  base  with 
nnkindness,*  then  at  least  the  expression  of  cpiiet,  prefatory 
:simplicity.  The  angle  spur  may  receive  such  decoration  as  we 
have  seen,  because  it  is  one  of  the  most  important  features  in 
the  whole  building ;  and  the  eye  is  always  so  attracted  to  it 
that  it  cannot  be  in  rich  architecture  left  altogether  blank  ; 
the  eye  is  stayed  upon  it  by  its  position,  but  glides,  and  ought 
to  glide,  along  the  basic  rolls  to  take  measurement  of  their 
length  ;  and  even  Avith  all  this  added  fitness,  the  ornament  of 
the  basic  spur  is  best,  in  the  long  run,  when  it  is  boldest  and 
simplest.  The  base  above  described,  §  xviii.,  as  the  most  beau¬ 
tiful  I  ever  saw,  was  not  for  that  reason  the  best  I  ever  saw : 
beautiful  in  its  place,  in  a  quiet  corner  of  a  Bajitistery  sheeted 
with  jasper  and  alabaster,  it  would  have  been  utterly  wrong, 
nay,  even  offensive,  if  used  in  sterner  work,  or  repeated  along 
a  whole  colonnade.  The  base  No.  10  of  Plate  XII.  is  the 
richest  with  which  I  Avas  ever  perfectly  satisfied  for  general 
service ;  and  the  basic  spurs  of  the  building  Avhich  I  have 
named  as  the  best  Gothic  monument  in  the  Avorld  (p.  1-11), 
have  no  ornament  upon  them  AAdiateA^er.  Tlie  adaptation, 
therefore,  of  rich  cornice  and  roll  mouldings  to  the  level  and 
ordinary  lines  of  bases,  Avhether  of  AA^alls  or  shafts,  I  hold  to  be 
one  of  the  worst  barbarisms  AAdiich  the  Roman  and  Renaissance 
architects  ever  committed ;  and  that  nothing  can  afterwards 
redeem  the  effeminacy  and  Auilgarity  of  the  buildings  in  Avhich 
it  prominently  takes  place. 

§  XX.  I  have  also  passed  over,  Avithout  present  notice,  the 
fantastic  bases  formed  by  couchant  animals,  Avhich  sustain 
many  Lombardic  shafts.  The  pillars  they  support  haA'e  inde¬ 
pendent  bases  of  the  ordinary  kind  ;  and  the  animal  form 
.beneath  is  less  to  be  considered  as  a  true  base  (though  often 


*  Appendix  25,  “  Romanist  Decoration  of  Bases.” 


DKCOKATION. 


XXV.  THE  BASE. 


293 


exquisitely  combined  with  it,  as  in  the  shaft  on  the  south-west 
angle  of  the  cathedral  of  Genoa)  than  as  a  piece  of  sculpture, 
otherwise  necessary  to  the  nobility  of  the  building,  and  deriv¬ 
ing  its  value  from  its  special  positive  fulfilment  of  expressional 
j)urposes,  with  which  we  have  here  no  ‘concern.  As  the  em¬ 
bodiment  of  a  wild  superstition,  and  the  representation  of 
supernatural  powers,  their  appeal  to  the  imagination  sets  at 
utter  defiance  all  judgment  based  on  ordinary  canons  of  law ; 
and  the  magnificence  of  their  treatment  atones,  in  nearly  every 
case,  for  the  extravagance  of  their  conception.  I  should  not 
admit  this  appeal  to  the  imagination,  if  it  had  been  made  by  a 
nation  in  whom  the  powers  of  body  and  mind  had  been  languid  ; 
but  by  the  Lombard,  strong  in  all  the  realities  of  human  life, 
we  need  not  fear  being  led  astray  :  the  visions  of  a  distempered 
fancy  are  not  indeed  permitted  to  replace  the  truth,  or  set 
aside  the  laws  of  science:  but  the  imagination  which  is 
thoroughly  under  the  command  of  the  intelligent  will,*  has  a 
dominion  indiscernible  by  science,  and  illimitable  by  law ;  and 
we  may  acknowledge  the  authority  of  the  Lombardic  gryphons 
in  the  mere  splendor  of  their  presence,  without  thinking  idol¬ 
atry  an  excuse  for  mechanical  misconstruction,  or  dreading  to 
be  called  upon,  in  other  cases,  to  admire  a  systemless  architec¬ 
ture,  because  it  may  happen  to  have  sprung  from  an  irrational 
religion. 

*  In  all  the  wildness  of  the  Lombardic  fancy  (described  in  Appendix  8), 
this  command  of  the  will  over  its  action  is  as  distinct  as  it  is  stern.  The 
fancy  is,  in  the  early  work  of  the  nation,  visibly  diseased;  but  never  the 
will,  nor  the  reason. 


CTTAPTEK  XXVL 


THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 

§  I.  Xo  subject  lias  been  more  open  ground  of  dispute 
among  arcliitects  than  the  decoration  of  the  wall  veil,  because 
no  decoration  appeared  naturally  to  grow  out  of  its  construc¬ 
tion ;  nor  could  any  curvatures  be  given  to  its  surface  large 
enough  to  produce  much  impression  on  the  eye.  It  has  become, 
therefore,  a  kind  of  general  field  for  experiments  of  various 
effects  of  surface  ornament,  or  has  been  altogether  abandoned 
to  the  mosaicist  and  fresco  painter.  But  we  may  perhaps 
conclude,  from  what  was  advanced  in  the  Fifth  Chapter,  that 
there  is  one  kind  of  decoration  which  will,  indeed,  naturally 
follow  on  its  construction.  For  it  is  perfectly  natural  that  the 
different  kinds  of  stone  used  in  its  successive  coui-ses  should 
be  of  diffei-ent  colors ;  and  there  are  many  associations  and 
analogies  which  metaphysically  justify  the  introduction  of 
horizontal  bands  of  color,  or  of  light  and  shade.  They  are,  in 
the  first  place,  a  kind  of  expression  of  the  growth  or  age  of 
the  wall,  like  the  rings  in  the  wood  of  a  tree ;  then  they  are  a 
farther  symbol  of  the  alternation  of  light  and  darkness,  which 
was  above  noted  as  the  source  of  the  charm  of  many  inferior 
mouldings:  again,  they  are  valuable  as  an  expression  of  hori¬ 
zontal  space  to  the  imagination,  space  of  which  the  conception 
is  opposed,  and  gives  more  effect  by  its  opposition,  to  the 
enclosing  power  of  the  wall  itself  (this  I  spoke  of  as  probably 
the  great  charm  of  these  horizontal  bars  to  the  Arabian  mind)  : 
and  again  they  are  valuable  in  their  suggestion  of  the  natural 
courses  of  rocks,  and  beds  of  the  earth  itself.  And  to  all  these 
powerful  imaginative  reasons  we  have  to  add  the  merely  ocular 
charm  of  interlineal  opposition  of  color;  a  charm  so  great, 


WALL-VEIL  DECORATION. 


DECORATION. 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


2% 


that  all  the  best  colorists,  without  a  single  exception,  depend 
upon  it  for  the  most  piquant  of  their  pictorial  effects,  some 
vigorous  mass  of  alternate  stripes  or  bars  of  color  being  made 
central  in  all  their  richest  arrangements.  The  wliole  system  of 
Tintoret’s  great  picture  of  the  IMiracle  of  St.  Mark  is  poised 
on  the  bars  of  blue,  which  cross  the  white  turban  of  the  execu¬ 
tioner. 

§  II.  There  are,  therefore,  no  ornaments  more  deeply  sug¬ 
gestive  in  their  simplicity  than  these  alternate  bars  of  horizon¬ 
tal  colom ;  nor  do  I  know  any  buildings  more  noble  than  those 
of  the  Pisan  Romanesque,  in  which  they  are  habitually  em- 
uloyed ;  and  certainly  none  so  graceful,  so  attractive,  so  endur- 
ingly  delightful  in  their  nobleness.  Yet,  of  this  pure  and 
graceful  ornamentation.  Professor  Willis  says,  “  a  practice  more 
destructive  of  architectural  grandeur  can  hardly  be  conceived 
and  modern  architects  have  substituted  for  it  the  ingenious  or¬ 
nament  of  which  the  reader  has  had  one  specimen  above.  Fig. 
III.,  p.  61,  and  with  which  half  the  large  buildings  in  London 
are  disfigured,  or  else  traversed  by  mere  straight  lines,  as,  for 
instance,  the  back  of  the  Bank.  The  lines  on  the  Bank  may, 
perhajis,  be  considered  typical  of  accounts  ;  but  in  general  the 
walls,  if  left  destitute  of  them,  would  have  been  as  much 
fairer  than  the  walls  charged  with  them,  as  a  sheet  of  white 
paper  is  than  the  leaf  of  a  ledger.  But  that  the  rcadei  may 
have  free  liberty  of  judgment  in  this  matter,  I  place  two  ex¬ 
amples  of  the  old  and  the  Renaissance  ornament  side  by  side 
on  the  opposite  page.  That  on  the  right  is  Romanesque,  f i  om 
St.  Pietro  of  Pistoja ;  that  on  the  left,  modem  English,  from 
the  Arthur  Club-house,  St.  James’s  Street. 

§  III.  But  why,  it  will  be  asked,  should  the  lines  which  mark 
the  division  of  the  stones  be  wrong  when  they  are  chiselled, 
and  right  when  they  are  marked  by  color  ?  First,  because 
the  color  separation  is  a  natural  one.  You  build  with  different 
kinds  of  stone,  of  which,  probably,  one  is  more  costly  than 
another ;  which  latter,  as  you  cannot  constmct  your  building 
of  it  entirely,  you  arrange  in  conspicuous  bars.  But  the  chis¬ 
elling  of  the  stones  is  a  wilful  throwing  away  of  chne  and  labor 


296 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  A>fD  SHAFT.  DECORATION. 


in  defacing  tlie  building :  it  costs  much  to  liew  one  of  those 
monstrous  blocks  into  shape ;  and,  when  it  is  done,  the  building 
is  weaker  than  it  was  before,  by  just  as  much  stone  as  has 
been  cut  away  from  its  joints.  And,  secondly,  because,  as  I 
have  repeatedly  urged,  straight  lines  are  ugly  things  as  lines^ 
but  admirable  as  limits  of  colored  spaces  ;  and  the  joints  of  the 
stones,  which  are  painful  in  proportion  to  their  regularity,  if 
drawn  as  lines,  are  perfectly  agreeable  when  marked  by  varia¬ 
tions  of  hue, 

§  IV.  What  is  true  of  the  divisions  of  stone  by  chiselling, 
is  equally  true  of  divisions  of  bricks  by  pointing,  Nor,  of 
course,  is  the  mere  horizontal  bar  the  only  arrangement  in 
which  the  colors  of  brickwork  or  masonry  can  be  gracefully 
disposed.  It  is  rather  one  which  can  only  be  employed  with 
advfintage  when  the  courses  of  stone  are  deep  and  bold.  When 
the  masonry  is  small,  it  is  better  to  throw  its  colors  into  cheq¬ 
uered  patterns.  We  shall  have  several  interesting  examples 
to  study  in  Venice  besides  the  well-known  one  of  the  Ducal 
Palace.  The  town  of  Moulins,  in  France,  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  on  this  side  the  Alps  for  its  chequered  patterns  in 
bricks.  The  church  of  Christchurch,  Streatham,  lately  built, 
though  spoiled  by  many  grievous  errors  (the  iron  work  in 
the  campanile  being’ the  grossest),  yet  affords  the  inhabitants 
of  the  district  a  means  of  obtaining  some  idea  of  the  vari¬ 
ety  of  effects  which  are  possible  with  no  other  material  than 
brick.  ' 

§  V.  We  have  yet  to  notice  another  effort  of  the  Penais- 
sance  architects  to  adorn  the  blank  spaces  of  their  walls  liy 
what  is  called  Pustication.  There  is  sometimes  an  obscure 
trace  of  the  remains  of  the  imitation  of  somethine:  organic  in 
this  kind  of  work.  In  sonie  of  the  better  French  eighteciith 
century  buildings  it  has  a  distinctly  floral  character,  like  a  flnal 
degradation  of  Flamboyant  leafage ;  and  some  of  our  modern 
Fnglish  architects  appear  to  have  taken  the  decayed  teeth  of 
elejihants  for  their  type  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  worm  casts ;  nor  these  with  any  precision. 
If  it  did,  it  would  not  bring  it  within  the  sphere  of  our  jirop- 


DECORATION. 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAET. 


297 


erly  imitative  ornamentation.  I  tlionglit  it  unnecessary  to 
warn  the  reader  that  he  was  not  to  copy  forms  of  refuse  or 
corruption ;  and  that,  while  he  might  legitimately  take  the 
worm  or  the  reptile  for  a  subject  of  imitation,  he  was  not  to 
study  the  worm  cast  or  coprolite. 

It  is,  however,  I  believe,  sometimes  supposed  that  rus¬ 
tication  gives  an  appearance  of  solidity  to  foundation  stones, 
^ot  so ;  at  least  to  any  one  who  knows  the  look  of  a  hard 
stone.  You  may,  by  rustication,  make  your  good  marble  or 
granite  look  like  wet  slime,  honeycombed  by  sand-eels,  or  like 
half-baked  tufo  covered  with  slow  exudation  of  stalactite,  or 
like  rotten  claystone  coated  with  concretions  of  its  own  mud; 
but  not  like  the  stones  of  which  the  hard  world  is  built.  Do 
not  think  that  nature  rusticates  her  foundations.  Smooth 
sheets  of  rock,  glistening  like  sea  waves,  and  that  ring  under 
the  hammer  like  a  brazen  bell, — that  is  her  piepaiatj.on  for 
first  stories.  She  does  rusticate  sometimes :  crumbly  sand¬ 
stones,  with  their  ripple-marks  filled  with  red  mud  ;  dusty  lime¬ 
stones,  which  the  rains  wash  into  labyrinthine  cavities ;  spongy 
lavas,  which  the  volcano  blast  drags  hither  and  thithei  into 
ropy  coils  and  bubbling  hollows  these  she  rusticates,  indeed, 
when  she  wants  to  make  oyster-shells  and  magnesia  of  them  ; 
but  not  when  she  needs  to  lay  foundations  with  them.  Then  she 
seeks  the  polished  surface  and  iron  heart,  not  rough  looks  and 
incoherent  substance. 

§  VII.  Of  the  richer  modes  of  wall  decoration  it  is  impos¬ 
sible  to  institute  any  general  comparison  ;  they  are  cpiite^  in¬ 
finite,  from  mere  inlaid  geometrical  figures  up  to  incrustations 
of  elaborate  bas-relief.  The  architect  has  perhaps  more  license 
in  them,  and  more  power  of  producing  good  effect  with  rude 
design  than  in  any  other  features  of  the  building ;  the  chequei 
and  hatchet  work  of  the  Normans  and  the  rude  bas-reliefs  of 

the  Lombards  being  almost  as  satisfactory  as  the  delicate  pan¬ 
elling  and  mosaic  of  the  Duomo  of  Florence.  But  this  is  to 
be  noted  of  all  good  wall  ornament,  that  it  retains  the  expies- 
sion  of  firm  and  massive  substance,  and  of  broad  surface,  and 
that  arcliitectm’e  instantly  declined  when  linear  design  was  sub- 


•  298 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AXD  SHAFT. 


DECORATION. 


stituted  for  massive,  and  the  sense  of  weight  of  wall  w^as  lost 
in  a  wilderness  of  upright  or  nndulating  rods.  Of  the  rich¬ 
est  and  most  delicate  wall  veil  decoration  by  inlaid  work,  as 
practised  in  Italy  from  the  twelfth  to  the  iifteenth  century,  I 
have  given  the  reader  two  characteristic  examples  in  Plates  XX. 
and  XXL 

§  VIII.  There  are,  however,  three  spaces  in  which  the  wall 
veil,  peculiarly  limited  in  shape,  was  always  felt  to  be  fitted 
for  snrface  decoration  of  the  most  elaborate  kind  ^  and  in  these 
spaces  are  found  the  most  majestic  instances  of  its  treatment. 


even  to  late  periods.  One 
of  these  is  the  spandril 
space,  or  the  filling  be¬ 
tween  any  two  arches, 
commonly  of  the  shape 
Fig.  LXI. ;  the  half 
of  which,  or  the  fiank 
filling  of  any  arch,  is 
called  a  spandril.  In 


Fig.  LXI. 


A 


Chapter  XVII.,  on  Filling  of  Apertures,  the  reader  will  find 
another  of  these  spaces  noted,  called  the  tympanum,  and  com¬ 
monly  of  the  form  Fig.  LXI. :  and  finally,  in  Chapter 
XYIII.,  he  will  find  the  third  space  described,  that  between 
an  arch  and  its  protecting  gable,  approximating  generally  to 
the  form  c,  Fig.  LXI. 

§  IX.  The  methods  of  treating  these  spaces  might  alone 
Airnish  subject  for  three  very  interesting  essays ;  but  I  shall 
only  note  the  most  essential  points  respecting  them. 

(1.)  The  Spandril.  It  was  observed  in  Chapter  XII.,  that 
this  portion  of  the  arch  load  might  frequently  be  lightened 
with  great  advantage  by  piercing  it  with  a  circle,  or  with  a 
group  of  circles  ;  and  the  roof  of  the  Fust  on  Square  railroad 
station  was  adduced  as  an  example.  One  of  the  spandril 
decorations  of  Bayeux  Cathedral  is  given  in  the  “  Seven 
Lamps,”  Plate  VII.  fig.  4.  It  is  little  more  than  one  of  these 
Euston  Square  spandrils.  with  its  circles  foliated. 

Sometimes  the  circle  is  entirely  pierced  ;  at  other  times  it 


'ih'f';: 


3 


SPANDRIL  DECORATION 


DECOKATION. 


XXYI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AXD  SHAFT. 


299 


is  merely  suggested  by  a  mosaic  or  liglit  tracery  on  the  wall 
surface,  as  in  the  plate  opposite,  which  is  one  of  the  spandrils 
of  the  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice.  It  was  evidently  intended 
that  all  the  spandrils  of  this  building  should  be  decorated  in 
this  manner,  but  only  two  of  them  seem  to  have  been  com¬ 
pleted.* 

§  X.  The  other  modes  of  spandril  filling  may  be  broadly 
reduced  to  four  heads.  1.  Free  figure  sculpture,  as  in  the 
Chapter-house  of  Salisbury,  and  very  superbly  along  the  west 
front  of  Bourges,  the  best  Gothic  spandrils  I  know.  2.  Radi¬ 
ated  foliage,  more  or  less  referred  to  the  centre,  or  to  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  spandril  for  its  origin  ;  single  figures  with  expanded 
wings  often  answering  the  same  jmrpose.  3.  Trefoils  ;  and  4, 
ordinary  wall  decoration  continued  into  the  spandril  space,  as 
in  Plate  XIII.,  above,  from  St.  Pietro  at  Pistoja,  and  in  AYest- 
minster  Abbey.  The  Renaissance  architects  introduced  span¬ 
dril  fillings  composed  of  colossal  human  figures  reclining  on 
the  sides  of  the  arch,  in  precarious  lassitude  |  but  these  cannot 
come  under  the  head  of  wall  veil  decoration. 

§  XI.  (2.)  The  Tympanum.  It  was  noted  that,  in  Gothic 
architecture,  this  is  for  the  most  part  a  detached  slab  of  stone, 
having  no  constructional  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  building. 
The  plan  of  its  sculpture  is  therefore  quite  arbitrary  ;  and,  as 
it  is  generally  in  a  conspicuous  position,  near  the  ej  e,  and 
above  the  entrance,  it  is  almost  always  charged  with  a  series  of 
rich  figure  sculptures,  solemn  in  feeling  and^  consecutive  m 
subject.  It  occupies  in  Christian  sacred  edifices  vci}  neaily 
the  position  of  the  pediment  in  Greek  sculpture.  This  latter 
is  itself  a  kind  of  tympanum,  and  charged  with  sculpture  in 
the  same  manner. 

§  xii.  (3.)  The  Gable.  The  same  principles  ^  apply  to  it 
which  have  been  noted  respecting  the  spandril,  with  one  more 
of  some  importance.  The  chief  difficulty  in  treating  a  gable 
lies  in  the  excessive  sharjmess  of  its  iippm*  point.  It  may,  in¬ 
deed,  on  its  outside  apex,  receive  a  finial ;  but  the  meeting 


*  Vide  end  of  Appendix  20. 


300 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AXD  SHAFT.  DECORATION. 


of  tlie  inside  lines  of  its  terminal  mouldings  is  necessarily  both 
harsh  and  conspicuous,  unless  artiticially  concealed.  The  most 
beautiful  victory  I  have  ever  seen  obtained  over  this  difficulty 
was  by  placing  a  sharp  shield,  its  point,  as  usual,  downwards, 
at  the  apex  of  the  gable,  which  exactly  reversed  the  offensive 
lines,  yet  without  actually  breaking  them  ;  the  gable  being 
completed  behind  the  shield.  The  same  thing  is  done  in  the 
Northern  and  Southern  Gothic  :  in  the  porches  of  Abbeville 
and  the  tombs  of  Verona. 

§  XIII.  I  believe  there  is  little  else  to  be  noted  of  general 
laws  of  ornament  respecting  the  wall  veil.  We  have  next  to 
consider  its  concentration  in  the  shaft. 

Now  the  principal  beauty  of  a  shaft  is  its  perfect  pi'opor- 
tion  to  its  work, — its  exact  expression  of  necessary  strength. 
If  this  has  been  truly  attained,  it  will  hardly  need,  in  some 
cases  hardly  bear,  more  decoration  than  is  given  to  it  by  its 
own  rounding  and  taper  curvatures  ;  for,  if  we  cut  ornaments 
in  intaglio  on  its  surface,  we  weaken  it ;  if  we  leave  them  in 
relief,  we  overcharge  it,  and  the  sweep  of  the  line  from  its 
base  to  its  summit,  though  deduced  in  Chapter  VIII.,  from 
necessities  of  construction,  is  already  one  of  gradated  curva¬ 
ture,  and  of  high  decorative  value. 

§  XIV.  It  is,  however,  carefully  to  be  noted,  that  decorations 
are  admissible  on  colossal  and  on  diminutive  shafts,  which  are 
wrong  upon  those  of  middle  size.  For,  when  the  shaft  is 
enormous,  incisions  or  sculpture  on  its  sides  (unless  colossal 
also),  do  not  materially  interfere  with  the  sweep  of  its  curve, 
nor  diminish  the  efficiency  of  its  sustaining  mass.  And  if  it 
be  diminutive,  its  sustaining  function  is  comparatively  of  so 
small  importance,  the  injurious  results  of  failure  so  much  less, 
and  the  relative  strengtli  and  cohesion  of  its  mass  so  much 
greater,  that  it  may  oe  suffered  in  the  extravagance  of  oi’na- 
ment  or  outline  which  would  be  unendurable  in  a  shaft  of  mid¬ 
dle  size,  and  impossible  in  one  of  colossal.  Thus,  the  shafts 
drawn  in  Plate  XIII.,  of  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  though  given  as 
exam]des  of  extravagance,  are  yet  jdeasing  in  the  general  ef¬ 
fect  of  the  arcade  they  support  ;  being  each  some  six  or  seven 


decoration,  xxyi.  the  wall  veil  and  shaft.  301 

feet  liigli.  Blit  tliey  would  have  been  monstrous,  as  well  as 

unsafe, '"if  they  had  been  sixty  or  seventy. 

§  XV.  Therefore,  to  determine  the  general  rule  for  shalt 
decoration,  we  must  ascertain  the  proportions  representative  of 
the  mean  bulk  of  shafts  :  they  might  easily  be  calculated  from 
a  sufficient  number  of  examples,  but  it  may  perhaps  be  as^ 
sumed,  for  our  present  general  purpose,  that  the  mean  stand¬ 
ard  would  be  of  some  twenty  feet  in  height,  by  eight  or  nine 
in  circumference  :  then  this  will  be  the  size  on  which  decora- 
tion  is  most  difficult  and  dangerous  :  and  shafts  become  more 
and  more  fit  subjects  for  decoration,  as  they  rise  farther  above, 
or  fall  farther  beneath  it,  until  very  small  and  very  vast  shafts 
will  both  be  found  to  look  blank  unless  they  receive  some 
chasing  or  imagery ;  blank,  whether  they  support  a  chair  or 
table  on  the  one  side,  or  sustain  a  village  on  the  ridge  of  an 

T^gyptian  architrave  on  the  othei. 

S  XVI.  Of  the  various  ornamentation  of  colossal  shafts,  there 
are  no  examples  so  noble  as  the  Egyptian ;  these  tlie  reader 
can  study  in  Mr.  Roberts’  work  on  Egypt  nearly  as  well,  i 
imao-ine,  as  if  he  were  beneath  their  shadow,  one  of  their  chief 
merits,  as  examples  of  method,  being  the  perfect  decision  and 
xisibility  of  their  designs  at  the  necessary  distance :  contrast 
with  these  the  inenistations  of  bas-relief  on  the  Trajan  pillar, 
much  interfering  with  the  smooth  lines  of  the  shaft,  and  yet 

themselves  tintraceable,  if  not  invisible. 

S  XVII  On  shafts  of  middle  size,  the  only  ornament  which 
has  ever  been  accepted  as  right,  is  the  Doric  fluting  which 
indeed,  gave  the  effect  of  a  succession  of  unequal  lines  of 
shade,  but  lost  much  of  the  repose  of  the  cylindrical  gradation 
The  Corinthian  fluting,  which  is  a  mean  multiplication  a 
deepening  of  the  Doric,  with  a  square  inrtead  of  a 
betLen  each  hollow,  destroyed  the  serenity  of  he  sha.ft  a  to¬ 
gether,  and  is  always  rigid  and  meagre.  Both  > 

wrong  in  principle;  they  are  an  elaborate  weakening*  of  the 
shaft,  exactly  opposed  (as  above  shown)  to  the  ribbed  foin, 

•  vide,  however,  their  defence  in  the  Essay  above  quoted,  p.  251. 


302 


XXYI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AX'D  SHAFT.  DECORATION. 


wliicli  is  tlie  result  of  a  group  of  shafts  bound  together,  and 
which  is  especially  beautiful  when  special  service  is  given  to 
each  member, 

§  XYiii.  On  shafts  of  inferior  size,  every  species  of  decora^ 
tion  may  be  wisely  lavished,  and  in  any  quantity,  so  only  that 
the  form  of  the  shaft  be  clearly  visible.  This  I  hold  to  be 
absolutely  essential,  and  that  barbarism  begins  wherever  tlie 
sculpture  is  either  so  bossy,  or  so  dee^^ly  cut,  as  to  break  the 
contour  of  the  shaft,  or  compromise  its  solidity.  Thus,  in 
Plate  XXI.  (Appendix  8),  the  richly  sculptured  shaft  of  the 
lower  story  has  lost  its  dignity  and  definite  function,  and  be¬ 
come  a  shapeless  mass,  injurious  to  the  symmetry  of  the  build¬ 
ing,  though  of  some  value  as  adding  to  its  imaginative  and 
fantastic  character.  Had  all  the  shafts  been  like  it,  the 
fagade  would  have  been  entirely  spoiled  ;  the  inlaid  pattern, 
on  the  contrary,  which  is  used  on  the  shortest  shaft  of  the 
upper  story,  adds  to  its  preciousness  without  interfering  with 
its  purpose,  and  is  every  way  delightful,  as  are  all  the  inlaid 
shaft  ornaments  of  this  noble  church  (another  example  of  them 
is  given  in  Plate  XII.  of  the  “  Seven  Lamps”).  The  same 
rule  would  condemn  the  Caryatid ;  which  I  entirely  agree 
with  Mr.  Fergusson  in  thinking  (both  for  this  and  other  rea¬ 
sons)  one  of  the  chief  errors  of  the  Greek  schools  ;  and,  more 
decisively  still,  the  Renaissance  inventions  of  shaft  ornament, 
almost  too  absurd  and  too  monstrous  to  be  seriously  noticed, 
which  consist  in  leaving  square  blocks  between  the  cylinder 
joints,  as  in  the  portico  of  Xo.  1,  Regent  Street,  and  many 
other  buildings  in  London  ;  or  in  rusticating  poi-tions  of  the 
shafts,  or  wrapping  fleeces  about  them,  as  at  the  entrance  of 
Burlington  House,  in  Piccadilly ;  or  tying  drapery  round 
them  in  knots,  as  in  the  new  buildings  above  noticed  (Chap. 
20,  §  VII.),  at  Paris.  But,  within  the  limits  thus  defined,  there 
is  no  feature  capable  of  richer  decoration  than  the  shaft ;  the 
most  beautiful  examples  of  all  I  have  seen,  are  the  slender 
pillars,  encrusted  with  arabesques,  which  flank  the  portals  of 
the  Baptistery  and  Duomo  at  Pisa,  and  some  others  of  the 
Pisan  and  Lucchese  churches  ;  but  the  varieties  of  sculpture 


DECORATION. 


XXYI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AXD  SHAFT. 


303 


and  inlaying,  with  which  the  small  Komanesqne  shafts,  whether 
Italian  or  Northern,  are  adorned  when  they  occupy  important 
positions,  are  cpiite  endless,  and  nearly  all  admirable.  Mi. 
Digby  Wyatt  has  given  a  beautiful  example  of  inlaid  work  so 
employed,  from  the  cloisters  of  the  Lateran,  in  his  work  on 
early  mosaic  ;  an  example  which  unites  the  surface  decoration 
of  the  shaft  with  the  adoption  of  the  spiral  contour.  This 
latter  is  often  all  the  decoration  which  is  needed,  and  none  can 
be  more  beautiful ;  it  has  been  spoken  against,  like  many  other 
good  and  lovely  things,  because  it  has  been  too  often  used  in 
extravagant  degrees,  like  the  well-known  twisting  of  the  pillars 
in  Eaffaelle’s  “  Beautiful  gate.”  But  that  extravagant  condi¬ 
tion  was  a  Eenaissance  barbarism  ;  the  old  Eomanesqiie  build¬ 
ers  kept  their  spirals  slight  and  pure  ;  often,  as  in  the  example 
from  St.  Zeno,  in  Plate  XVII.  below,  giving  only  half  a  turn 
from  the  base  of  the  shaft  to  its  head,  and  nearly  always  ob¬ 
serving  what  I  hold  to  be  an  imperative  law,  that  no  twisted 
shaft  shall  be  single,  but  composed  of  at  least  two  distinct 
members,  twined  with  each  other.  I  suppose 
they  followed  their  own  right  feeling  in  doing 
this,  and  had  never  studied  natural  shafts; 
but  the  type  they  might  have  followed  was 
caught  by  one  of  the  few  great  painters  who 
were  not  affected  by  the  evil  influence  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  Benozzo  Gozzoli,  who,  in 
the  frescoes  of  the  Eicardi  Palace,  among 
stems  of  trees  for  the  most  part  as  vertical  as 
stone  shafts,  has  suddenly  introduced  one  of 
the  shape  given  in  Fig.  LXII.  Many  forest 
trees  present,  in  their  accidental  contortions, 
types  of  most  complicated  spiral  shafts,  the 
plan  being  originally  of  a  grouped  shaft  rising  from  several 
roots ;  nor,  indeed,  will  the  reader  ever  find  models  for  every 
kind  of  shaft  decoration,  so  graceful  or  so  gorgeous,  as  he  wi  1 
find  in  the  great  forest  aisle,  where  the  strength  of  the  earth 
itself  seems  to  rise  from  the  roots  into  the  vaulting  ;  but  the 
shaft  surface,  barred  as  it  expands  with  rings  of  ebony  and 


Fig.  LXn. 


304 


XXVI.  THE  WALL  VEIL  AND  SHAFT. 


DECOEATION. 


silver,  is  fretted  with  traceries  of  ivj,  marbled  with  piii’ple 
moss,  veined  with  grey  lichen,  and  tesselated,  by  the  rays  of 
the  rolling  heaven,  with  flitting  fancies  of  blue  shadow  and 
burning  gold. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 

§  I.  There  are  no  features  to  wliicli  the  attention  of  archi¬ 
tects  has  been  more  laboriously  directed,  m  all  ages,  than  these 
crowning  members  of  the  wall  and  shaft ;  and  it  would  be  vam 
to  endeavor,  within  any  moderate  limits,  to  give  the  reader  any 
idea  of  the  various  kinds  of  admirable  decoration  which  have 
been  invented  for  them.  But,  in  proportion  to  the  efiort  and 
straining  of  the  fancy,  have  been  the  extravagances  into  winch 
it  has  occasionally  fallen  ;  and  while  it  is  utterly  impossible 
severally  to  enumerate  the  instances  either  of  its  success  oi  ith 
error,  it  is  very  possible  to  note  the  limits  of  the  one  and  the 
causes  of  the  other.  This  is  all  that  we  shall  attempt  in  t  le 
present  chapter,  tracing  first  for  ourselves,  as  m  previous  in¬ 
stances,  the  natural  channels  by  which  invention  is  here  to  be 
directed  or  confined,  and  afterwards  remarking  the  placeb 

where,  in  real  practice,  it  has  broken  bounds. 

§  II.  The  reader  remembers,  I  hope,  the  mam  points  re¬ 
specting  the  cornice  and  capital,  established  above  m  the 
Chapters  on  Construction.  Of  these  I  must,  however,  recapi¬ 
tulate  thus  much : —  .  ^  ^ 

1  That  both  the  cornice  and  capital  are,  with  referenc 

the  slope  of  their  profile  or  bell,  to  be  divided  into  two  great 
ordere;  in  one  of  which  the  ornament  is  convex,  and  m  the 

other  concave.  (Ch.  VI.,  §  v.)  ,,  i  ^ 

2.  That  the  capital,  with  reference  to  the  method  ot  Bubt- 

in«’  the  cornice  round  to  construct  it,  and  to  unite  tie  ci 
shaft  with  the  square  abacus,  falls  into  five  general  forms,  rep¬ 
resented  in  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  IID. 

3.  That  the  most  elaborate  capitals  were  formed  by  tine  oi 


306 


XXVII.  TnE  COEXICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


simple  capitals  witli  a  common  cornice  added  above  tlieir  abar 
cns,  (Cb.  IX.,  §  XXIV.) 

AVe  have  then,  in  considering  decoration,  first  to  observe 
the  treatment  of  the  two  great  orders  of  the  cornice  ;  then  their 
gathering  into  the  five  of  the  capital  5  then  the  addition  of  the 
secondary  cornice  to  the  capital  when  formed. 

§  HI.  The  two  great  orders  or  families  of  cornice  were  above 
distinguished  in  Fig.  X.,  p.  69. ;  and  it  was  mentioned  in  the 
same  place  that  a  third  family  arose  from  their  combination. 
AA"e  must  deal  with  the  two  great  opposed  groups  first. 

They  were  distinguislied  in  Fig.  Y.  by  circular  curves 
drawn  on  opposite  sides  of  the  same  line.  But  we  now  know 
that  in  these  smaller  features  the  cii’cle  is  usually  the  least  in¬ 
teresting  curve  that  we  can  use ;  and  that  it  will  be  well,  since 
the  capital  and  cornice  are  both  active  in  their  expression,  to 
use  some  of  the  more  abstract  natural  lines.  AVe  will  go  back, 
therefore,  to  our  old  friend  the  salvia  leaf ;  and  taking  the 
same  piece  of  it  we  had  before,  x  y,  Plate  A^II.,  we  will  apply  it 
to  the  cornice  line  ;  first  within  it,  giving  the  concave  cornice, 
then  without,  giving  the  convex  cornice.  In  all  the  figures, 
«,  J,  <?,  Plate  XV.,  the  dotted  line  is  at  the  same  slope,  and 
represents  an  average  profile  of  the  root  of  cornices  («,  Fig.  V., 
p.  69) ;  the  curve  of  the  salvia  leaf  is  applied  to  it  in  each  case, 
first  with  its  roundest  curvature  up,  then  with  its  roundest 
curvature  down  ;  and  we  have  thus  the  two  varieties,  a  and  5, 
of  the  concave  family,  and  c  and  (7,  of  the  convex  family. 

§  IV.  These  four  profiles  will  represent  all  the  simple  cor¬ 
nices  in  the  world ;  represent  them,  I  mean,  as  central  types : 
for  in  any  of  the  profiles  an  infinite  number  of  slopes  may  be 
given  to  the  dotted  line  of 'the  root  (which  in  these  four  fig¬ 
ures  is  always  at  the  same  angle)  ;  and  on  each  of  these  innu¬ 
merable  slopes  an  innumerable  variety  of  curves  may  be  fitted, 
from  every  leaf  in  the  forest,  and  every  shell  on  the  shore,  and 
every  movement  of  the  human  fingers  and  fancy  ;  therefore,  if 
the  reader  wishes  to  obtain  something  like  a  numerical  re]>rc- 
sentation  of  the  number  of  possible  and  beautiful  cornices 
which  may  be  based  upon  these  four  types  or  roots,  and  among 


XV, 


CORNICE  PROFILES. 


DECOKATION.  XXVII.  THE  COKXICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


307 


wliicli  the  architect  has  leave  to  choose  according  to  the  cir- 
cumstances  of  his  building  and  the  method  of  its  composition, 
let  liim  set  down  a  figure  1  to  begin  with,  and  write  ciphers 
after  it  as  fast  as  he  can,  without  stopjiing,  for  an  hour. 

§  V.  ISTone  of  the  types  are,  however,  found  in  perfection 
of  curvature,  except  in  the  best  work.  Very  often  cornices 
are  worked  with  circular  segments  (with  a  noble,  massive  effect, 
for  instance,  in  St.  Michele  of  Lucca),  or  with  rude  approxi¬ 
mation  to  finer  curvature,  especially  Plate  XV.,  which  oc¬ 
curs  often  so  small  as  to  render  it  useless  to  take  much  pains 
upon  its  curve.  It  occurs  perfectly  pure  in  the  condition  rep¬ 
resented  by  1  of  the  series  1 — 6,  in  Plate  XV.,  on  many  of  the 
Byzantine  and  early  Gothic  buildings  of  Venice;  in  more 
developed  form  it  becomes  the  profile  of  the  bell  of  the  capital 
in  the  later  Venetian  Gothic,  and  in  much  of  the  best  Xorth- 
ern  Gothic.  It  also  represents  the  Corinthian  cajiital,  in  which 
the  curvature  is  taken  from  the  bell  to  be  added  in  some  excess 
to  the  nodding  leaves.  It  is  the  most  graceful  of  all  simple 
profiles  of  cornice  and  capital. 

§  VI.  h  is  a  much  rarer  and  less  manageable  type  :  for  this 
evident  reason,  that  while  a  is  the  natural  condition  of  a  line 
rooted  and  strong  beneath,  but  bent  out  by  superincumbent 
weight,  or  nodding  over  in  freedom,  h  is  yielding  at  the  base 
and  rigid  at  the  summit.  It  has,  however,  some  exquisite  uses, 
especially  in  combination,  as  the  reader  may  see  by  glancing 
in  advance  at  the  inner  line  of  the  profile  14  in  Plate  XV. 

§  VII.  G  is  the  leading  convex  or  Doric  type,  as  a  is  the 
leading  concave  or  Corinthian.  Its  relation  to  the  best  Greek 
Doric  is  exactly  what  the  relation  of  a  is  to  the  Corinthian ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  curvature  must  be  taken  from  the  straighter 
limb  of  the  curve  and  added  to  the  bolder  bend,  giving  it  a 
sudden  turn  inwards  (as  in  the  Corinthian  a  nod  outwards), 
as  the  reader  may  see  in  the  capital  of  the  Parthenon  in  the 
British  Museum,  where  the  lower  limb  of  the  curve  is  all  hut 
a  riixht  line.'^  But  these  Doric  and  Corinthian  lines  are  mere 

*  In  very  early  Doric  it  was  an  absolute  right  line;  and  that  capital  is 
therefore  derived  from  the  pure  cornice  root,  represented  by  the  dotted  line. 


308 


XXVII.  THE  CORXICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION, 


varieties  of  tlie  great  families  wliicli  are  represented  by  tlie 
central  lines  a  and  c,  including  not  only  the  Doric  capital,  but 
all  the  small  cornices  formed  by  a  slight  increase  of  the  curve 
of  c,  which  are  of  so  frequent  occurrence  in  Greek  oi’naments. 

§  VMi.  cl  is  the  Christian  Doric,  which  I  said  (Chap.  I.,  §  xx.) 
was  invented  to  replace  the  antique  :  it  is  the  representative 
of  the  great  Byzantine  and  Norman  families  of  convex  cornice 
and  capital,  and,  next  to  the  protile  a,  the  most  important  of 
the  four,  being  the  best  profile  for  the  convex  capital,  as  a  is 
for  the  concave  ;  co  being  the  best  expression  of  an  elastic  line 
inserted  vertically  in  the  shaft,  and  d  of  an  elastic  line  inserted 
lioiizontally  and  rising  to  meet  vertical  pi’essure. 

If  the  reader  will  glance  at  the  arrangements  of  boughs  of 
trees,  he  will  find  them  commonly  dividing  into  these  two 
families,  a  and  cl:  they  rise  out  of  the  trunk  and  nod  from  it 
as  a,  or  they  spring  with  sudden  curvature  out  from  it,  and 
rise  into  symjxathy  with  it,  as  at  d  ^  but  they  only  accidentally 
display  tendencies  to  the  lines  h  or  c.  Boughs  which  fall  as 
they  spring  from  the  tree  also  describe  the  curve  d  in  the 
plurality  of  instances,  but  reversed  in  arrangement ;  their  junc¬ 
tion  with  the  stem  being  at  the  top  of  it,  their  sprays  bending 
out  into  rounder  curvature. 

§  IX.  These  then  being  the  two  primal  groups,  we  have 
next  to  note  the  combined  group,  formed  by  the  concave  and 
convex  lines  joined  in  various  proportions  of  curvature,  so  as 
to  form  together  the  reversed  or  ogee  curve,  represented  in 
one  of  its  most  beautiful  states  by  the  glacier  line  a,  on  Plate 
VII.  I  would  rather  have  taken  this  line  than  any  other  to 
have  formed  my  third  group  of  cornices  by,  but  as  it  is  too 
large,  and  almost  too  delicate,  we  will  take  instead  that  of  the 
Matterhorn  side,  ef^  Plate  VII.  For  uniformity’s  sake  I  keep 
the  slope  of  the  dotted  line  the  same  as  in  the  primal  forms ; 
and  applying  this  Matterhorn  curve  in  its  four  relative  posi¬ 
tions  to  that  line,  I  have  the  types  of  the  four  cornices  or  capi¬ 
tals  of  the  third  family,  <?,/*,  y,  A,  on  Plate  XV. 

These  are,  however,  general  types  only  thus  far,  that  their 
line  is  composed  of  one  short  and  one  long  curve,  and  that 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


30?) 


they  represent  the  four  conditions  of  treatment  of  every  such 
line;  namely,  the  longest  curve  concave  in <3  anciy,  and  convex 
inland  A/  and  the  point  of  contrary  flexure  set  high  in  e 
and  y,  and  low  iny"  and  A.  The  relative  depth  of  the  arcs,  or 
nature  of  their  curvature,  cannot  he  taken  into  consideration 
without  a  complexity  of  system  which  my  space  does  not 
admit. 

Of  the  four  types  thus  constituted,  e  and /"are  of  great  im¬ 
portance  ;  the  other  two  are  rarely  used,  having  an  apj)earance 
of  weakness  in  consequence  of  the  shortest  curve  being  con¬ 
cave  :  the  profiles  e  andy*,  when  used  for  cornices,  have  usually 
a  fuller  sweep  and  somewhat  greater  equality  between  the 
branches  of  the  curve ;  but  those  here  given  are  better  repre¬ 
sentatives  of  the  structure  applicable  to  capitals  and  cornices 
indifferently. 

§  X.  Very  often,  in  the  farther  treatment  of  the  profiles  e 
or  y*,  another  limb  is  added  to  their  curve  in  order  to  join  it  to 
the  upper  or  lower  members  of  the  cornice  or  capital.  I  do 
not  consider  this  addition  as  forming  another  family  of  cor¬ 
nices,  because  the  leading  and  effective  part  of  the  curve  is  in 
these,  as  in  the  others,  the  single  ogee ;  and  the  added  bend  is 
merely  a  less  abrupt  termination  of  it  above  or  below  :  still  this 
group  is  of  so  great  importance  in  the  richer  kinds  of  orna¬ 
mentation  that  we  must  have  it  sufficiently  represented.  We 
shall  obtain  a  type  of  it  by  merely  continuing  the  line  of  the 
Matterhorn  side,  of  which  before  we  took  only  a  fragment. 
The  entire  line  e  to  y  on  Plate  VII.,,  is  evidently  composed  of 
three  curves  of  unequal  lengths,  which  if  we  call  the  shortest 
1,  the  intermediate  one  2,  and  the  longest  3,  are  there  arranged 
in  the  order  1,  3,  2,  counting  upwards.  But  evidently  we  might 
also  have  had  the  arrangements  1,  2,  3,  and  2,  1,  3,  giving  iie 
three  distinct  lines,  altogether  independent  of  position,  which 
being  applied  to  one  general  dotted  slope  will  each  give  four 
cornices,  or  twelve  altogether.  Of  these  the  six  most  impor¬ 
tant  are  those  which  have  the  shortest  curve  convex ;  they  are 
given  in  light  relief  from  A  to  y?,  Plate  XV.,  and,  by  turning 
the  page  upside  down,  the  other  six  will  be  seen  in  dark  re- 


310  ' 


XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


DECORATION. 


lief,  only  tlie  little  npriglit  bits  of  shadow  at  the  bottom  are 
not  to  be  considered  as  parts  of  them,  being  only  admitted  in 
order  to  give  the  complete  profile  of  the  more  important  cor¬ 
nices  in  light. 

§  XI.  In  these  types,  as  in  e  and/*,  the  only  general  condi¬ 
tion  is,  that  their  line  shall  be  composed  of  three  curves  of  dif¬ 
ferent  lengtlis  and  different  arrangements  (the  depth  of  arcs 
and  radius  of  curvatures  being  unconsidered).  They  are  ar¬ 
ranged  in  three  couples,  each  couple  being  two  positions  of  the 
same  entire  line ;  so  that  numbering  the  component  curves 
in  order  of  magnitude  and  counting  upwards,  they  will  read — 

Ic  1,  2,  3, 

I  3,  2,  1, 
m  1,  3,  2, 
n  2,  3,  1, 

0  2,  1,  3, 
jp  3,  1,  2. 

m  and  which  are  the  Matterhorn  line,  are  the  most  beauti¬ 
ful  and  important  of  all  the  twelve ;  k  and  I  the  next ;  o  and 
p  are  used  only  for  certain  conditions  of  flower  carving  on 
the  surface.  The  reverses  (dark)  of  k  and  I  are  also  of 
considerable  service  ;  the  other  four  hai-dly  ever  used  in  good 
work. 

§  XII.  If  we  were  to  add  a  fourth  curve  to  the  compo¬ 
nent  series,  we  should  have  forty-eight  more  cornices :  but 
there  is  no  use  in  pursuing  the  system  further,  as  such  ar¬ 
rangements  are  very  rare  and  easily  resolved  into  the  simpler 
types  with  certain  arbitraiy  additions  fitted  to  their  special 
place ;  and,  in  most  cases,  distinctly  separate  froih  the  main 
curve,  as  in  the  inner  line  of  No.  14,  which  is  a  form  of  the 
type  e,  the  longest  curve,  t.e.,  the  lowest,  having  deepest  curva¬ 
ture,  and  each  limb  opposed  by  a  short  contrary  curve  at  its 
extremities,  the  convex  limb  by  a  concave,  the  concave  by  a 
convex. 

S  XIII.  Such,  then.,  are  the  great  families  of  profile  lines 


XVI 


CORNICE  DECORATION. 


DECOKATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORHICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


311 


into  wliicli  all  cornices  and  capitals  may  be  divided  ;  but  their 
best  examples  unite  two  such  profiles  in  a  mode  which  we 
cannot  understand  till  we  consider  the  further  ornament 
with  which  the  profiles  are  charged.  And  in  doing  this  we 
must,  for  the  sake  of  clearness,  consider,  first  the  nature 
of  the  designs  themselves,  and  next  the  mode  of  cutting 
tliem. 

§  XIV.  Tn  Plate  XYI.,  opposite,  I  have  thrown  together  a 
few  of  the  most  characteristic  mediseval  examples  of  the  treat¬ 
ment  of  the  simplest  cornice 'profiles  :  the  uppermost,  a,  is  the 
pure  root  of  cornices  from  St.  Mark’s.  The  second,  c7,  is  the 
Christian  Doric  cornice,  here  lettered  d  in  order  to  avoid  con¬ 
fusion,  its  profile  being  d  of  Plate  XV.  in  bold  development, 
and  here  seen  on  the  left-hand  side,  truly  drawn,  though  filled 
up  with  the  ornament  to  show  the  mode  in  which  the  angle 
is  turned.  This  is  also  from  St.  Mark’s.  The  third,  7»,  is  h 
of  Plate  XV.,  the  jiattern  being  inlaid  in  black  because  its  office 
was  ill  the  inteifor  of  St.  Mark’s,  where  it  was  too  dark  to  see 
sculptured  ornament  at  the  required  distance.  (The  other  two 
simple  profiles,  a  and  u  of  Plate  XV.,  would  be  decorated  in 
the  same  manner,  but  require  no  example  here,  for  the  profile 
a  is  of  so  frecpient  occurrence  that  it  will  have  a  page  to  itself 
alone  in  the  next  volume  ;  andu  may  be  seen  over  nearly  every 
shop  in  London,  being  that  of  the  common  Greek  egg  cornice.) 
The  fourth,  ^  in  Plate  XVI.,  is  a  transitional  cornice,  passing 
from  Bvzantine  into  Venetian  Gothic  :  y  is  a  fully  develo2ied 
Venetian  Gothic  cornice  founded  on  Byzantine  traditions  ;  and 
g  the  perfect  Lombardic-Gothic  cornice,  founded  on  the  Pisan 
Pomanesque  traditions,  and  strongly  marked  with  the  noblest 
Northern  element,  the  Lombardic  vitality  restrained  by  classic 
cal  models.  I  consider  it  a  perfect  cornice,  and  of  the  highest 
order. 

§  XV.  Now  in  the  design  of  this  series  of  ornaments  there 
are  two  main  points  to  be  noted  ;  the  first,  that  they  all,  excejit 
7*,  are  distinctly  rooted  in  the  lower  part  of  the  cornice,  and 
spring  to  the  top.  This  arrangement  is  constant  in  all  the  best 
cornices  and  capitals ;  and  it  is  essential  to  the  expression  of 


312 


XXVII.  THE  eORXICE  AXD  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


tlie  supporting  power  of  both.  It  is  exactly  opposed  to  the 
system  of  running  cornices  and  handed"^  capitals,  in  which 
the  ornament  flows  along  them  horizontally,  or  is  twined  round 
them,  as  the  mouldings  are  in  the  early  English  cajiital,  and  the 
foliage  in  many  decorated  ones.  Such  cornices  have  arisen 
from  a  mistaken  appliance  of  the  running  ornaments,  which 
are  proper  to  archivolts,  jambs,  &c.,  to  the  features  which  have 
deflnite  functions  of  support.  A  tendril  may  nobly  follow  the 
outline  of  an  arch,  but  must  not  creep  along  a  comice,  nor 
swathe  or  bandage  a  capital ;  it  is  essential  to  the  expression  of 
these  features  that  their  ornament  should  have  an  elastic  and 
upward  spring ;  and  as  the  proper  profile  for  the  curve  is  that 
of  a  tree  bough,  as  we  saw  above,  so  the  proper  arrangement 
of  its  farther  ornament  is  that  which  best  expresses  rooted  and 
ascendant  strength  like  that  of  foliage. 

There  are  certain  very  interesting  exceptions  to  the  rule  (we 
shall  see  a  curious  one  presently) ;  and  in  the  carrying  out  of 
the  rule  itself,  we  may  see  constant  licenses  taken  by  the  great 
designers,  and  momentary  violations  of  it,  like  those  above 
spoken  of,  respecting  other  ornamental  laws — violations  which 
are  for  our  refreshment,  and  for  increase  of  delight  in  the 
general  observance  ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  peculiar  beauties 
of  the  cornice  y,  which,  rooting  itself  in  strong  central  clusters, 
suffers  some  of  its  leaves  to  fall  languidly  aside,  as  the  droop¬ 
ing  outer  leaves  of  a  natural  cluster  do  so  often ;  but  at  the 
very  instant  that  it  does  this,  in  order  that  it  may  not  lose  any 
of  its  expression  of  strength,  a  fruit-stalk  is  thrown  up  above 
the  languid  leaves,  absolutely  veidical,  as  much  stiffer  and 
stronger  than  the  I’est  of  the  plant  as  the  falling  leaves  are 
weaker.  Cover  this  with  your  Anger,  and  the  cornice  falls  to 
pieces,  like  a  bouquet  which  has  been  untied. 

§  XVI.  There  are  some  instances  in  which,  though  the  real 
arrangement  is  that  of  a  running  stem,  throwing  off  leaves  up 

*  The  word  banded  is  used  by  Professor  Willis  in  a  different  sense; 
which  I  would  respect,  by  applying  it  in  his  sense  always  to  the  Impost, 
and  in  mine  to  the  capital  itself.  (This  note  is  not  for  the  general  reader, 
who  need  not  trouble  himself  about  the  matter.) 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


313 


and  down,  the  positions  of  the  leaves  give  neaHy  as  much 
elasticity  and  organisation  to  the  cornice,  as  if  they  had  been 
rightly  rooted  ;  and  others,  like  where  the  reversed  portion 
of  the  ornament  is  lost  in  the  shade,  and  the  general  expression 
of  strength  is  got  by  the  lower  member.  .This  cornice  will, 
nevertheless,  be  felt  at  once  to  be  inferior  to  the  rest ;  and 
though  we  may  often  be  called  upon  to  admire  designs  of 
these  kinds,  which  would  have  been  exquisite  if  not  thus  mis¬ 
placed,  the  reader  will  find  that  they  are  both  of  rare  occur¬ 
rence,  and  significative  of  declining  style ;  while  the  greater 
mass  of  the  banded  capitals  are  heavy  and  valueless,  mere 
aggregations  of  confused  sculpture,  swathed  round  the  extre¬ 
mity  of  the  shaft,  as  if  she  had  dipped  it  into  a  mass  of  melted 
ornament,  as  the  glass-blower  does  his  blow-pipe  into  the 
metal,  and  brought  up  a  quantity  adhering  glutinously  to  its 
extremity.  We  have  many  capitals  of  this  kind  in  England  : 
some  of  the  worst  and  heaviest  in  the  choir  of  York.  The 
later  capitals  of  the  Italian  Gothic  have  the  same  kind  of  effect, 
but  owing  to  another  cause  :  for  their  structure  is  quite  pure, 
and  based  on  the  Coi’inthian  type :  and  it  is  the  branching 
form  of  the  heads  of  the  leaves  which  destroys  the  effect  of 
their  organisation.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  Italian 
cornices  which  are  actually  composed  by  running  tendrils, 
throwing  off  leaves  into  oval  interstices,  are  so  massive  in  their 
treatment,  and  so  marked  and  firm  in  their  vertical  and  arched 
lines,  that  they  are  nearly  as  suggestive  of  support  as  if  they 
had  been  arranged  on  the  rooted  system.  A  cornice  of  this 
kind  is  used  in  St.  Michele  of  Lucca  (Plate  YI.  in  the  “  Seven 
Lamps,”  and  XXI.  here),  and  with  exquisite  projiriety  ;  for 
that  cornice  is  at  once  a  crown  to  the  story  beneath  it  and  a 
foundation  to  that  which  is  above  it,  and  therefore  unites  the 
strength  and  elasticity  of  the  lines  proper  to  the  cornice  with 
the  submission  and  prostration  of  those  proper  to  the  founda¬ 
tion. 

§  XVII.  This,  then,  is  the  first  point  needing  general  notice 
in  the  designs  in  Plate  XYI.  The  second  is  the  difference 
between  the  freedom  of  the  Xorthern  and  the  sophistication 


314 


XXVII.  THE  COKNICE  AXD  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


of  the  classical  cornices,  in  connection  with  what  has  been 
advanced  in  Appendix  8.  The  cornices,  a,  d,  and  are  of 
the  same  date,  but  they  show  a  singular  difference  in  the 
workman’s  temper :  that  at  5  is  a  single  copy  of  a  classical 
mosaic ;  and  many  carved  cornices  occur,  associated  with  it, 
which  are,  in  like  manner,  mere  copies  of  the  Greek  and  Eoman 
egg  and  arrow  mouldings.  But  the  cornices  a  and  d  are 
copies  of  nothing  of  the  kind  :  the  idea  of  them  has  indeed 
been  taken  from  the  Greek  honeysuckle  ornament,  but  the 
chiselling  of  them  is  in  no  wise  either  Greek,  or  Byzantine,  in 
temper.  The  Byzantines  were  languid  copyists  :  this  work  is 
as  energetic  as  its  original ;  energetic,  not  in  the  cpiantity  of 
work,  but  in  the  spirit  of  it :  an  indolent  man,  forced  into  toil, 
may  cover  large  spaces  with  evidence  of  his  feeble  action,  or 
accumulate  his  dulness  into  rich  aggregation  of  trouble,  but  it 
is  gathered  weariness  still.  The  man  who  cut  those  two 
uppermost  cornices  had  no  time  to  spare  :  did  as  much  cornice 
as  he  could  in  half  an  hour ;  but  would  not  endure  the  slightest 
trace  of  error  in  a  curve,  or  of  bluntness  in  an  edge.  His 
work  is  absolutely  unreprov^eable;  keen,  and  true,  as  Nature’s 
own ;  his  entire  force  is  in  it,  and  fixed  on  seeing  that  every 
line  of  it  shall  be  sharp  and  right :  the  faithful  energy  is  in 
him :  we  shall  see  something  come  of  that  cornice :  The  fellow 
who  inlaid  the  other  (5),  will  stay  where  he  is  for  ever ;  and 
when  he  has  inlaid  one  leaf  up,  will  inlay  another  down, — and 
so  undulate  up  and  down  to  all  eternity :  but  the  man  of  a 
and  d  will  cut  his  way  forward,  or  there  is  no  truth  in  handi¬ 
crafts,  nor  stubbornness  in  stone. 

§  XVIII.  But  there  is  something  else  noticeable  in  those  two 
cornices,  besides  the  energy  of  them  :  as  opposed  either  to  5, 
or  the  Greek  honeysuckle  or  egg  patterns,  they  are  natural 
designs.  The  Greek  egg  and  arrow  cornice  is  a  nonsense 
cornice,  very  noble  in  its  lines,  but  utterly  absurd  in  meaning. 
Arrows  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  eggs  (at  least  since 
Leda’s  time),  neither  are  the  so-called  arrows  like  arrows,  nor 
the  eggs  like  eggs,  nor  the  honeysuckles  like  honeysuckles ; 
they  are  all  conventionalised  into  a  monotonous  successiveness 


DECORATION.  XXYII.  THE  CORXICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


315 


of  notliing, — pleasant  to  the  eye,  useless  to  the  thought.  But 
those  Christian  cornices  are,  as  far  as  may  be,  suggestive ; 
there  is  not  the  tenth  of  the  work  in  them  that  there  is  in  the 
Greek  arrows,  but,  as  far  as  that  work  will  go,  it  has  consistent 
intention  ;  with'the  fewest  possible  incisions,  and  those  of  the 
easiest  shape,  they  suggest  the  true  image,  of  clusters  of 
leaves,  each  leaf  with  its  central  depression  from  root  to  point, 
and  that  distinctly  visible  at  almost  any  distance  from  the  eye, 
and  in  almost  any  light. 

§  XIX.  Here,  then,  are  two  great  new  elements  visible ; 
energy  and  naturalism  : — Life,  Avith  submission  to  the  laws  of 
God,  and  love  of  his  works ;  this  is  Christianity,  dealing  with 
her  classical  models.  How  look  back  to  what  I  said  in  Chap. 
I.  §  XX.  of  this  dealing  of  hers,  and  invention  of  the  new  Doric 
line  ;  then  to  Avhat  is  above  stated  (§  viii.)  respecting  that  new 
Doric,  and  the  boughs  of  trees ;  and  noAV  to  the  evidence  in 
the  cutting  of  the  leaves  on  the  same  Doric  section,  and  see 
how  the  whole  is  beginning  to  come  together. 

§  XX.  We  said  that  something  would  come  of  these  two 
cornices,  a  and  d.  In  e  and/*  Ave  see  that  something  has  come 
of  them :  e  is  also  from  St.  Mark’s,  and  one  of  the  earliest 
examples  in  Yenice  of  the  transition  from  the  Byzantine  to 
the  Gothic  cornice.  It  is  already  singularly  developed  ;  flow¬ 
ers  have  been  added  between  the  clusters  of  leaves,  and  the 
leaves  themselves  curled  over :  and  observe  the  well-directed 
thought  of  the  sculptor  in  this  curling  ; — the  old  incisions  are 
retained  beloAV,  and  their  excessive  rigidity  is  one  of  the  proofs 
of  the  earliness  of  the  cornice  ;  but  those  incisions  noAV  stand 
for  the  under  surface  of  the  leaf ;  and  behold,  Avhen  it  turns 
over,  on  the  top  of  it  you  see  true  rihs.  Look  at  the  upper 
and  under  surface  of  a  cabbage-leaf,  and  see  Avhat  quick  steps 
we  are  making. 

§  XXI.  The  fifth  example  {f')  was  cut  in  1347  ;  it  is  from 
the  tomb  of  Marco  Giustiniani,  in  the  churcli  of  St.  John  and 
Paul,  and  it  exhibits  the  character  of  the  centi'al  Venetian 
Gotliic  fully  deA^eloped.  The  lines  are  all  now  soft  and  undu- 
latory,  though  elastic ;  the  sharp  incisions  have  become  deeply- 


316 


XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AX^D  CAPITAL.  DECORATION 


gathered  folds ;  the  hollow  of  the  leaf  is  expressed  completely 
beneath,  and  its  edges  rre  toiiched  with  light,  and  incised  into 
several  lobes,  and  their  ribs  delicately  drawn  above.  (The 
flower  between  is  only  accidentally  absent ;  it  occurs  in  most 
cornices  of  the  time.) 

Blit  in  both  these  cornices  the  reader  will  notice  that  while 
the  naturalism  of  the  sculpture  is  steadily  on  the  increase,  the 
classical  formalism  is  still  retained.  The  leaves  are  accurately 
numbered,  and  sternly  set  in  their  places ;  they  are  leaves  in 
office,  and  dare  not  stir  nor  wave.  They  have  the  shapes  of 
leaves,  but  not  the  functions,  “  having  the  form  of  knowledge, 
but  denying  the  power  thereof.”  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ? 

§  xxii.  Look  back  to  the  xxxiiird  jiaragraph  of  the  fii’st 
chapter,  and  you  will  see  tlie  meaning  of  it.  These  cornices 
are  the  Venetian  Ecclesiastical  Gothic  ;  the  Christian  element 
struggling  with  the  Formalism  of  the  Papacy, — the  Papacy 
being  entirely  heathen  in  all  its  principles.  That  officialism 
of  the  leaves  and  their  ribs  means  Apostolic  succession,  and  I 
don’t  know  how  much  more,  and  is  already  preparing  for  the 
transition  to  old  Heathenism  again,  and  the  Penaissance.* 

§  xxiii.  How  look  to  the  last  cornice  (y).  That  is  Protes¬ 
tantism, — a  slight  touch  of  Dissent,  hardly  amounting  to  schism, 
in  those  falling  leaves,  but  true  life  in  the  whole  of  it.  The 
forms  all  broken  through,  and  sent  heaven  knows  where,  but 
the  root  held  fast ;  and  the  strong  sap  in  the  branches ;  and, 
best  of  all,  good  fruit  ripening  and  opening  straight  towards 

*  The  Ttenaissance  period  being  one  of  return  to  formalism  on  the  one 
side,  of  utter  licentiousness  on  the  other,  so  that  sometimes,  as  here,  I  liave 
to  declare  its  lifelessness,  at  other  times  (Chap.  XXV.,  §  xvii.)  its  lascivi¬ 
ousness.  There  is,  of  course,  no  contradiction  in  this:  but  the  reader 
might  well  ask  how  I  knew  the  change  from  the  base  11  to  the  base  12,  in 
Plate  XII.,  to  be  one  from  temperance  to  luxury;  and  from  the  cornice/ 
to  the  cornice  y,  in  Plate  XVI.,  to  be  one  from  formalism  to  vitality.  I 
know  it,  both  by  certain  internal  evidences,  on  which  I  shall  have  to  dwell 
at  length  hereafter,  and  by  the  context  of  the  works  of  the  time.  But  tlie 
outward  signs  might  in  both  ornaments  be  the  same,  distinguishable  only 
assigns  of  opposite  tendencies  by  the  event  of  both.  The  blush  of  shame 
cannot  always  be  told  from  the  blush  of  indignation. 


DECORATION.  XXYII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


317 


heaven,  and  in  the  face  of  it,  even  though  some  of  the  leaves 
lie  in  the  dust. 

Now,  observe.  The  cornice  f  represents  Heathenism  and 
Papistry,  animated  by  the  mingling  of  Christianity  and  nature. 
The  good  in  it,  the  life  of  it,  the  veracity  and  liberty  of  it, 
such  as  it  has,  are  Protestantism  in  its  heart ;  the  rigidity  and 
saplessness  are  the  Eomanism  of  it.  It  is  the  mind  of  Fra 
Angelico  in  the  monk’s  dress, — Christianity  before  the  Refor¬ 
mation.  The  cornice  g  has  the  Lombardic  life  element  in  its 
fulness,  with  only  some  color  and  shape  of  Classicalism  min¬ 
gled  with  it — the  good  of  classicalism ;  as  much  method  and 
Formalism  as  are  consistent  with  life,  and  fitting  for  it :  The 
continence  within  certain  border  lines,  the  unity  at  the  root, 
the  simplicity  of  the  great  profile, — all  these  are  the  healthy 
classical  elements  retained :  the  rest  is  reformation,  new 
strength,  and  recovered  liberty. 

§  XXIV.  There  is  one  more  point  about  it  especially  notice¬ 
able.  The  leaves  are  thoroughly  natural  in  their  general  char¬ 
acter,  but  they  are  of  no  particular  species :  and  after  being 
something  like  cabbage-leaves  in  the  beginning,  one  of  them 
suddenly  becomes  an  ivy-leaf  in  the  end.  Now  I  don’t  know 
what  to  say  of  this.  I  know  it,  indeed,  to  be  a  classical  char¬ 
acter  ; — it  is  eminently  characteristic  of  Southern  work ;  and 
markedly  distinctive  of  it  from  the  Northern  ornament,  which 
would  have  been  oak,  or  ivy,  or  apple,  but  not  anything,  nor 
two  things  in  one.  It  is,  I  reiieat,  a  clearly  classical  element ; 
but  whether  a  good  or  bad  element,  I  am  not  sure ; — whether 
it  is  the  last  trace  of  Centaurisni  and  other  monstrosity  dying 
away ;  or  whether  it  has  a  figurative  purjiose,  legitimate  in 
architecture  (though  never  in  painting),  and  has  been  rightly 
retained  by  the  Christian  sculptor,  to  express  the  working  of 
that  spirit  which  grafts  one  nature  upon  another,  and  discerns 
a  law  in  its  members  warring  against  the  law  of  its  mind. 

§  xxr.  These,  then,  being  the  points  most  noticeable  in  the 
spirit  both  of  the  designs  and  the  chiselling,  we  have  now  to 
retui-n  to  the  question  proposed  in  §  xiii.,  and  observe  the 
modifications  of  form  of  profile  which  resulted  from  the 


318 


XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


changing  contours  of  the  leafage ;  for  up  to  §  xiii.,  we  had,  as 
usual,  considered  the  possible  conditions  of  form  in  the  ab¬ 
stract  ; — the  modes  in  which  they  have  been  derived  from 
each  other  in  actual  practice  require  to  be  followed  in  their 
turn.  How  the  Greek  Doric  or  Greek  ogee  cornices  were 
invented  is  not  easy  to  determine,  and,  fortunately,  is  little  to 
our  present  purpose  ;  for  the  mediseval  ogee  cornices  have  an 
independent  development  of  their  own,  from  the  first  type  of 
the  concave  cornice  a  in  Plate  XV. 

§  XXVI.  That  cornice  occurs,  in  the  simplest  work,  jierfectly 
pure,  but  in  finished  work  it  was  quickly  felt  that  there  was  a 


meagreness  in  its  junction 


Fig.  LXIII. 


with  the  wall  beneath  it,  where 
it  was  set  as  here  at  a.^  Fig. 
LXIII.,  which  could  only  be 
conquered  by  concealing  such 
junction  in  a  bar  of  shadow. 
There  were  two  ways  of  getting 
this  bar :  one  by  a  projecting 


roll  at  the  foot  of  the  cornice  (J,  Fig.  LXIII.),  the  other  by 
slipping  the  whole  cornice  a  little  forward  {g.  Fig.  LXIII.). 
From  these  two  methods  arise  two  groups  of  cornices  and 
cajiitals,  which  we  shall  pursue  in  succession, 

§  XXVII.  First  group.  With  the  roll  at  the  base  (5,  Fig. 
LXIII.).  The  chain  of  its  succession  is  represented  from  1 
to  6,  in  Plate  XY. :  1  and  2  are  the  steps  already  gained,  as  in 
Fig.  LXIII.’ ;  and  in  them  the  profile  of  cornice  used  is  a  of 
Plate  XY.,  or  a  refined  condition  of  h  of  Fig.  Y.,  p.  69,  above. 
Now,  keeping  the  same  refined  profile,  substitute  the  condition 
of  it,  f  of  Fig.  Y.  (and  there  accounted  for),  above  the  roll 
here,  and  you  have  3,  Plate  XY.  This  superadded  abacus 
was  instantly  felt  to  be  harsh  in  its  projecting  angle  ;  but  you 
know  what  to  do  with  an  angle  when  it  is  harsh.  Use  your 
simplest  chamfer  on  it  {a  or  h.  Fig.  LIII.,  page  287,  above), 
but  on  the  visible  side  onl}’,  and  you  have  fig.  4,  Plate  XY, 
(the  top  stone  being  made  deeper  that  you  may  have  room  to 
chamfer  it).  Now  this  fig.  4  is  the  profile  of  Lombardic  and 


DECORATION.  SJSYII.  THE  COEHICE  AHD  CAPITAL. 


319 


Yeiietiaii  early  capitals  and  cornices,  by  tens  of  thousands  ; 
and  it  continues  into  the  late  Venetian  Gothic,  with  this  only 
difference,  that  as  times  advances,  the  vertical  line  at  tiie  top 
of  the  original  cornice  begins  to  slope  outwards,  and  through 
a  series  of  years  rises  like  the  hazel  wand  in  the  hand  of  a 
diviner : — but  how  slowly !  a  stone  dial  which  marches  but  45 
degrees  in  three  centuries,  and  through  the  intermediate  con¬ 
dition  5  arrives  at  6,  and  so  stays. 

In  tracing  this  chain  I  have  kept  all  the  profiles  of  the  same 
height  in  order  to  make  the  comparison  more  easy ;  the  depth 
chosen  is  about  intermediate  between  that  which  is  customary 
in  cornices  on  the  one  hand,  which  are  often  a  little  shorter, 
and  cajiitals  on  the  other,  which  are  often  a  little  deeper.* 
And  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  profiles  5  and  6  establish  them¬ 
selves  in  capitals  chiefiy,  while  4  is  retained  fin  cornices  to  the 
latest  times. 

§  xxvni.  Second  group  (c.  Fig.  LXIII.).  If  the  lower 
angle,  which  was  quickly  felt  to  be 
hard,  be  rounded  off,  we  have  the 
fonn  a,  Fig.  LXIV.  The  front  of 
the  curved  line  is  then  decorated,  as 
we  have  seen ;  and  the  termination 
of  the  decorated  surface  marked  by 
an  incision,  as  in  an  ordinary  cham¬ 
fer,  as  at  1)  here.  This  I  believe  to 
have  been  the  simple  origin  of  most  of  the  Venetian  ogee 

*  The  reader  must  always  remember  that  a  cornice,  in  becoming  a 
capital,  must,  if  not  originally  bold  and  deep,  have  depth  added  to  its  pro¬ 
file,  in  order  to  reach  the  just  proportion  of  the  lower  member  of  the  shaft 
head ;  and  that  therefore  the  small  Greek  egg  cornices  are  utterly  incapable 
of  becoming  capitals  till  they  have  totally  changed  their  form  and  depth. 
The  Renaissance  architects,  who  never  obtained  hold  of  a  right  principle 
but  they  made  it  worse  than  a  wrong  one  by  misapplication,  caught  the 
idea  of  turning  the  cornice  into  a  capital,  but  did  not  comprehend  the 
necessity  of  the  accompanying  change  of  depth.  Hence  we  have  pilaster 
heads  formed  of  small  egg  cornices,  and  that  meanest  of  all  mean  heads 
of  shafts,  the  coarse  Roman  Doric  profile  chopped  into  a  small  egg  and 
arrow  moulding,  both  which  may  be  seen  disfiguring  half  the  buildings  in 
Loudon. 


520 


XXVTT.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


cornices ;  but  they  are  farther  complicated  by  the  curves  given 
to  the  leafage  which  flows  over  them.  In  the  ordinary  Greek 
cornices,  and  in  a  and  d  oi  Plate  XYI.,  the  decoration  is 
incised  from  the  outside  profile,  without  any  suggestion  of  an 
interior  surface  of  a  different  contour.  But  in  the  leaf  cor¬ 
nices  which  follow,  the  decoration  is  represented  as  overlaid 
on  one  of  the  early  profiles,  and  has  another  outside  contour 
of  its  own ;  which  is,  indeed,  the  true  profile  of  the  cornice, 
but  beneath  which,  more  or  less,  the  simpler  profile  is  seen 
or  suggested,  which  terminates  all  the  incisions  of  the  chisel. 
This  under  profile  will  often  be  found  to  be  some  condition  of 
the  type  a  or  Fig.  LXIY. ;  and  tlie  loaf  profile  to  be  another 
ogee  with  its  fullest  curve  uj>  instead  of  down,  lapping  over 
the  cornice  edge  above,  so  that  the  entire  profile  might  be  con¬ 
sidered  as  made  up  of  two  ogee  curves  laid,  like  jiacked  her¬ 
rings,  head  to  tail.  Figures  8  and  9  of  Plate  XY.  exemplify 
this  arrangement.  Fig.  Y  is  a  heavier  contour,  doubtless  com¬ 
posed  in  the  same  manner,  but  of  which  I  had  not  marked 
tlie  innermost  profile,  and  which  I  have  given  here  only  to 
complete  the  series  which,  from  7  to  12  inclusive,  exemplifies 
the  gradual  restriction  of  the  leaf  outline,  from  its  boldest  pro¬ 
jection  in  the  cornice  to  its  most  modest  service  in  the  capital. 
This  change,  however,  is  not  one  which  indicates  difference  of 
age,  but  merely  of  ofiice  and  position  :  the  cornice  7  is  from 
the  tomb  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo  (1350)  in  St.  Mark’s, 
8  from  a  canopy  over  a  door  of  about  the  same  period,  9  from 
the  tomb  of  the  Dogaressa  Agnese  Yeniei  (1411),  10  from  that 
of  Pietro  Cornaro  (1361),*  and  11  from  that  of  Andrea  Moro- 
sini  (1347),  all  in  the  church  of  San  Giov.  and  Paola,  all  these 
being  cornice  profiles;  and,  finally,  12  from  a  capital  of  the 
Ducal  Palace,  of  fourteen  century  work. 

§  XXIX.  Xow  the  reader  will  doubtless  notice  that  in  the 
three  examples,  10  to  12,  the  leaf  has  a  different  contour  from 
that  of  7,  8,  or  9.  This  difference  is  peculiarly  significant.  I 

*  I  have  taken  these  dates  roughly  from  Selvatico;  their  absolute  ac¬ 
curacy  to  within  a  year  or  two,  is  here  of  no  importance. 


PECORATION.  XXYII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


321 


have  always  desired  that  the  reader  should  theoretically  con¬ 
sider  the  cajiital  as  a  concentration  of  the  cornice ;  hut  in  prac¬ 
tice  it  often  happens  that  the  cornice  is,  on  the  contrary,  an 
unrolled  capital  ;  and  one  of  the  richest  early  forms  of  the 
Byzantine  cornice  (not  given  in  Plate  XV.,  because  its  sepa¬ 
rate  character  and  importance  require  examination  apart)  is 
nothing  more  than  an  unrolled  continuation  of  the  lower  range 
of  acanthus  leaves  on  the  Corinthian  capital.  From  this  cor¬ 
nice  others  ajipear  to  have  been  derived,  like  e  in  Plate  XA^I., 
in  which  the  acanthus  outline  has  become  confused  with  that 
of  the  honeysuckle,  and  the  rosette  of  the  centre  of  the  Corin¬ 
thian  capital  introduced  between  them  ;  and  thus  their  forms 
approach  more  and  more  to  those  derived  from  the  cornice 
itself.  Xow  if  the  leaf  has  the  contour  of  10,  11,  or  12,  Plate 
XV.,  the  profile  is  either  actually  of  a  capital,  or  of  a  cornice 
derived  from  a  capital ;  while,  if  the  leaf  have  the  contour  of 
7  or  8,  the  profile  is  either  actually  of  a  cornice  or  of  a  capital 
derived  from  a  cornice.  Where  the  Byzantines  use  the  acan¬ 
thus,  the  Lombards  use  the  Pei’sepolitan  water-leaf ;  but  the 
connection  of  the  cornices  and  capitals  is  exactly  the  same. 

§  XXX.  Thus  far,  however,  we  have  considered  the  charac¬ 
ters  of  profile  which  are  common  to  the  cornice  and  capital 
both.  We  have  now  to  note  what  farther  decorative  features 
or  peculiarities  belong  to  the  capital  itself,  or  result  from  the 
theoretical  gathering  of  the  one  into  the  other.' 

Look  back  to  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  110.  The  five  types  there 
given,  represented  the  five  diffei-ent  methods  of  concentration 
of  the  root  of  cornices,  a  of  Fig.  V.  Xow,  as  many  profiles 
of  cornices  as  were  developed  in  Plate  XV.  from  this  cornice 
root,  there  rejwesented  by  the  dotted  slope,  so  many  may  l:)e 
applied  to  each  of  the  five  types  in  Fig.  XXII., — applied  sim¬ 
ply  in  a  and  5,  but  with  farther  modifications,  necessitated  by 
their  truncations  or  spurs,  in  c,  rZ,  and  e. 

Then,  these  cornice  profiles  having  been  so  applied  in  such 
length  and  slope  as  is  proper  for  capitals,  the  farther  condition 
wmes  into  effect  described  in  Chapter  IX.  §  xxrv.,  and  any 
one  of  the  cornices  in  Plate  XV.  may  become  the  ahacics  of  a 


322 


XXYII.  THE  COEXICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


capital  formed  out  of  any  other,  or  ont  of  itself.  The  infinity 
of  forms  thus  resultant  cannot,  as  may  well  be  supiiosed,  be 
exhibited  or  catalogued  in  the  space  at  present  permitted  to 
us  :  but  the  reader,  once  master  of  the  principle,  will  easily  be 
able  to  investigate  for  himself  the  syntax  of  all  examples  that 
may  occur  to  him,  and  I  shall  only  here,  as  a  kind  of  exercise, 
put  before  him  a  few  of  those  which  he  will  meet  with  most 
frequently  in  his  Yenetian  inquiries,  or  which  illustrate  points, 
not  hitherto  touched  upon,  in  the  disposition  of  the  abacus. 

§  XXXI.  In  Plate  XYII.  the  capital  at  the  toji,  on  the  left 
hand,  is  the  rudest  possible  gathering  of  the  plain  Christian 
Doric  cornice,  d  of  Plate  XY.  The  shaft  is  octagonal,  and 
the  capital  is  not  cnt  to  fit  it,  but  is  square  at  the  base ;  and 
the  curve  of  its  profile  pi’ojects  on  two  of  its  sides  more  than 
on  the  other  two,  so  as  to  make  the  abacus  oblong,  in  order  to 
carry  an  oblong  mass  of  brickwork,  dividing  one  of  the  upper 
lights  of  a  Lombard  campanile  at  Milan.  The  awkward 
stretching  of  the  brickwork,  to  do  what  the  capital  ought  to 
have  done,  is  very  remarkable.  There  is  here  no  second  su¬ 
perimposed  abacus. 

§  XXXII.  The  figure  on  the  right  hand,  at  the  top,  shows  the 
simple  but  perfect  fulfilment  of  all  the  requirements  in  which 
the  first  example  fails.  The  mass  of  brickwork  to  be  earned 
is  exactly  the  same  in  size  and  shape ;  but  instead  of  being 
trusted  to  a  single  shaft,  it  has  two  of  smaller  area  (compare 
Chap.  YIII.,  §  XIII.),  and  all  the  expansion  necessary  is  now 
gracefully  attained  by  their  united  capitals,  hewn  out  of  one 
stone.  Take  the  section  of  these  capitals  through  their  angle, 
and  nothing  can  be  simpler  or  purer  ;  it  is  composed  of  2,  in 
Plate  XY.,  used  for  the  capital  itself,  with  c  of  Fig.  LXIII. 
used  for  the  abacus ;  the  reader  could  hardly  have  a  neater 
little  bit  of  syntax  for  a  first  lesson.  If  the  section  be  taken 
through  the  side  of  the  bell,  the  capital  profile  is  the  root  of 
cornices,  a  of  Fig.  Y.,  with  the  added  roll.  This  capital  is 
somewhat  remarkable  in  having  its  sides  perfectly  straight, 
some  slight  curvature  being  usual  on  so  bold  a  scale ;  but  it  is 
all  the  better  as  a  first  example,  the  method  of  reduction  being 


XVII 


CAPITALS. 


CONCAVE  GROUP. 


323 


DECORATION.  XXTII.  THE  COEXICE  AXD  CAPITAL. 


of  order  in  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  110,  and  with  a  concave  cnt,  as 

in  ig.  XXL,  p.  loo.  These  two  capitals  are  from  the  cloister 
of  the  diionio  of  Yerona. 


§  xxxm.  The  lowermost  figure  in  Plate  XYII.  represents 
an  exquisitely  finished  example  of  the  same  type,  from  St 
Zeno  of  Yerona.  Above,  at  2,  in  Plate  IL,  the  plan  of  the 
shafts  was  given,  but  I  inadvertently  reversed  their  position  • 
m  comparing  that  plan  with  Plate  XYIL,  Plate  II.  must  be 
held  upside  down.  The  capitals,  with  tl.e  band  connecting 
t  lem,  are  all  cnt  out  of  one  block ;  their  profile  is  an  adapta- 
Lon  of  4  of  Plate  XY.,  with  a  plain  headstone  superimposed. 
Ihis  method  of  reduction  is  that  of  order  d  in  Fig.  XXII., 


Fig.  LXV. 


but  the  peculiarity  of  treatment  of  their  truncation  is  highly 
interesting.  Fig.  LXY.  represents  the  plans  of  the  capitals 
at  the  base,  the  shaded  parts  being  the  bells :  the  open  line, 
the  roll  with  its  connecting  band.  The  bell  of  the  one,  it  will 
be  seen,  is  the  exact  reverse  of  that  of  the  other:  the  angle 
truncations  are,  in  both,  curved  horizontally  as  well  as  up- 
rightly;  but  their  curve  is  convex  in  the  one,  and  in  the  other 
concave.  Plate  XYII.  will  show  the  effect  of  both,  with  the' 
farther  incisions,  to  the  same  depth,  on  the  flank  of  the  one- 
with  the  concave  truncation,  which  join  with  the  rest  of  its 
singularly  bold  and  keen  execution  in  giving  the  impression 


32i 


XXVII.  TFE  COEXICE  AXD  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


of  its  ratlier  having  been  cloven  into  its  form  by  the  sweeps  of 
a  sword,  than  bv  the  dull  travail  of  a  chisel.  Its  workman 
Avas  proud  of  it,  as  Avell  he  might  be :  he  has  written  his  name 
upon  its  front  (I  would  that  more  of  his  fellows  had  been  as 
kindly  vain),  and  the  goodly  stone  proclaims  for  ever,  ada- 

MIXUS  DE  SANCTO  GIOKGIO  ME  FECIT. 

§  XXXIV.  The  reader  will  easily  understand  that  the  grace¬ 
fulness  of  this  kind  of  truncation,  as  he  sees  it  in  Plate  XVII., 
soon  suggested  the  idea  of  reducing  it  to  a  A^egetable  outline, 
and  laying  four  healing  leaves,  as  it  were,  upon  the  AA’ounds 
which  the  sword  had  made.  These  four  leaves,  on  the  trun¬ 
cations  of  the  capital,  correspond  to  the  four  leaves  which  we 
saAV,  in  like  manner,  extend  themselves  over  the  spurs  of  the 
base,  and,  as  they  increase  in  delicacy  of  execution,  form  one 
of  the  most  lovely  groujis  of  capitals  which  the  Gothic  work¬ 
men  ever  invented ;  represented  by  tAvo  jicrfect  types  in  the 
capitals  of  the  Piazzetta  columns  of  Venice.  But  this  pure 
group  is  an  isolated  one  ;  it  remains  in  the  first  simplicity  of  its 
conception  far  into  the  thirteenth  century,  AA’hile  around  it  rise 
up  a  crowd  of  other  forms,  imitative  of  the  old  Corinthian, 
and  in  which  other  and  younger  leaA^es  spring  up  in  luxuriant 
groAvth  among  the  primal  four.  The  Auarieties  of  their  group¬ 
ing  Ave  shall  enumerate  hereafter :  one  general  characteristic  of 
them  all  must  be  noted  here. 

§  XXXV.  The  reader  has  been  told  repeatedly  *  that  there 
are  tAvo,  and  only  two,  real  orders  of  capitals,  originalh’’  repre¬ 
sented  by  the  Corinthian  and  the  Doric ;  and  distinguished  by 
the  concave  or  convex  contours  of  their  bells,  as  shoAvn  by  the 
dotted  lines  at  e,  Fig.  V.,  p.  65.  And  hitherto,  respecting  the 
capital,  Ave  have  been  exclusively  concerned  with  the  methods 
in  AA'hich  these  tAvo  families  of  simple  contours  liaA^e  gathered 
themselves  together,  and  obtained  reconciliation  to  the  abacus 
above,  and  the  shaft  beloAV.  But  the  last  paragraph  introduces 
us  to  the  surface  ornament  disposed  upon  these,  in  the  chisel¬ 
ling  of  Avhich  the  characters  described  aboA^e,  §  xxa'iii.,  Avhich 


*  Chap.  I.  §  XIX.,  Appendix  7 ;  and  Chap.  VI.  §  v. 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


325 


are  Init  feebly  marked  in  the  cornice,  boldly  distinguish  and 
divide  the  families  of  the  capital. 

§  XXXVI.  Whatever  the  nature  of  the  ornament  be,  it  must 
clearly  have  relief  of  some  kind,  and  must  present  projeetincr 
sin  faces  separated  by  incisions.  But  it  is  a  very  material  (pies- 
tion  V  hether  the  contour,  hitherto  broadly  considered  as  that 
of  the  entire  bell,  shall  be  that  of  the  outside  of  the  projecting 
and  lelieved  ornaments,  or  of  the  hottoms  oj'  the  incisions 
which  divide  them ;  whether,  that  is  to  say,  we  shall  tii-st  cut 
out  the  bell  of  our  capital  quite  smooth,  and  then  cut  farther 
into  it,  with  incisions,  which  shall  leave  ornamental  forms  in 
relief,  or  whether,  in  originally  cutting  the  contour  of  the  bell, 
we  shall  leave  projecting  bits  of  stone,  which  we  may  after¬ 
wards  work  into  the  relieved  ornament. 

§  XXXVII.  k^ow,  look  back  to  Fig.  Y.,  p.  65.  Clearly,  if  to 
ornament  the  already  hollowed  profile,  h,  we  cut  deep  incisions 
into  it,  we  shall  so  far  weaken  it  at  the  top,  that  it  will  nearly 
lose  all  its  supporting  power.  Clearly,  also,  if  to  ornament 
the  already  bulging  profile  c  we  were  to  leave  projecting  pieces 
of  stone  outside  of  it,  we  should  nearly  destroy  all  its  relation 
to  the  original  sloping  line  X,  and  pi'oduce  an  unseemly  and 
ponderous  mass,  hardly  recognizable  as  a  cornice  profile.  '  It  is 
evident,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  can  afford  to  cut  into  this 
profile  without  fear  of  destroying  its  strength,  and  that  we  can 
afford  to  leave  projections  outside  of  the  other,  without  fear  of 
desB'oying  its  lightness.  Such  is,  accordingly,  the  natural  dis¬ 
position  of  the  sculpture,  and  the  two  great  families  of  capitals 
are  therefore  distinguished,  not  merely  by  their  concave  and 
convex  contours,  but  by  the  ornamentation  being  left  outside 
tlie  bell  of  the  one,  and  cut  into  the  bell  of  the  other ;  so  that, 
m  either  case,  the  ornamental  portions  will  fall  hetween  the 
dotted  lines  at  Fig.  Y.,  and  the  pointed  oval,  or  vesica  piscis, 
‘which  is  tiaced  by  them,  niay  be  called  the  Fimit  of  ornamen¬ 
tation. 

§  xxxvm.  Several  distinctions  in  the  quantity  and  style  of 
the  ornament  must  instantly  follow  from  this  great  distinction 
in  its  position.  First,  in  its  quantity.  For,  observe  :  since  in 


32G 


XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


tlie  Doric  profile,  c  of  Fig.  V.,  the  contour  itself  is  to  be  com¬ 
posed  of  the  surface  of  the  ornamentation,  this  ornamentation 
must  he  close  and  united  enough  to  form,  or  at  least  suggest,  a 
continuous  surface ;  it  must,  therefore,  be  rich  in  quantity  and 
close  in  aggregation ;  otherwise  it  will  destroy  the  massy  char¬ 
acter  of  the  profile  it  adorns,  and  approximate  it  to  its  opposite, 
tlie  concave.  On  the  other  hand,  the  ornament  left  projecting 
from  the  concave,  must  he  sparing  enough,  and  dispersed 
enough,  to  allow  the  concave  bell  to  be  clearly  seen  beneath  it ; 
otherwise  it  will  choke  up  the  concave  profile,  and  approximate 
it  to  its  opposite,  the  convex. 

§  XXXIX.  And,  secondly,  in  its  style.  For,  clearly,  as  the 
sculptor  of  the  concave  profile  must  leave  masses  of  rough 
stone  prepared  for  his  outer  ornament,  and  cannot  finish  them 
at  once,  but  must  complete  the  cutting  of  the  smooth  bell 
beneath  first,  and  then  return  to  the  projecting  masses  (for  if 
he  were  to  finish  these  latter  first,  they  would  assuredly,  if 
delicate  or  sharp,  be  broken  as  he  worked  on  ;  since,  I  say,  he 
must  work  in  this  foreseeing  and  predetermined  method,  he  is 
sure  to  reduce  the  system  of  his  ornaments  to  some  definite 
symmetrical  order  before  he  begins);  and  the  habit  of  conceiving 
beforehand  all  that  he  has  to  do,  will  probably  render  him  not 
only  more  orderly  in  its  arrangement,  but  more  skilful  and 
accurate  in  its  execution,  than  if  he  could  finish  all  as  he 
worked  on.  On  the  other  hand,  the  sculptor  of  the  convex 
profile  has  its  smooth  surface  laid  before  him,  as  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  he  can  sketch  at  his  pleasure ;  the  incisions  he 
makes  in  it  are  like  touches  of  a  dark  pencil ;  and  he  is  at 
liberty  to  roam  over  the  surface  in  perfect  freedom,  with  light 
incisions  or  with  deep ;  finishing  here,  suggesting  there,  or 
perhaps  in  places  leaving  the  surface  altogether  smooth.  It  is 
ten  to  one,  therefore,  but  that,  if  he  yield  to  the  temptation,  he 
becomes  irregular  in  design,  and  rude  in  handling;  and  we 
shall  assuredly  find  the  two  families  of  capitals  distinguished, 
the  one  by  its  symmetrical,  thoroughly  organised,  and  exquis¬ 
itely  executed  ornament,  the  other  by  its  rambling,  confused, 
and  rudely  chiselled  ornament :  But,  on  the  other  hand,  while 


CAPITALS 


CONVEX  GROUT 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  COKXICE  AXD  CAPITAL. 


327 


we  shall  often  have  to  admire  the  disciplined  precision  of  the 
one,  and  as  often  to  regret  the  irregular  rudeness  of  the  other, 
we  shall  not  fail  to  find  balancing  (pialities  in  both.  The 
severity  of  the  disciplinarian  capital  rejiresses  the  power  of  the 
imagination ;  it  gradually  degenerates  into  Formalism ;  and 
the  indolence  which  cannot  escape  from  its  stern  demand  of 
accurate  workmanship,  seeks  refuge  in  copyism  of  established 
forms,  and  loses  itself  at  last  in  lifeless  mechanism.  The  license 
of  the  other,  though  often  abused,  permits  full  exercise  to  the 
imagination:  the  mind  of  the  sculptor,  unshackled  by  the 
niceties  of  chiselling,  wanders  over  its  orbed  field  in  endless 
fantasy ;  and,  when  generous  as  well  as  powerful,  repays  the 
liberty  which  has  been  granted  to  It  with  interest,  by  develop¬ 
ing  through  the  utmost  wildness  and  fulness  of  its  thoughts,  an 
order  as  much  more  noble  than  the  mechanical  symmetry  of 
the  opjionent  school,  as  the  domain  which  it  regulates  is 
vaster. 

§  XL.  And  now  the  reader  shall  judge  whether  I  had  not 
reason  to  cast  aside  the  so-called  Five  oj’ders  of  the  Renaissance 
arcliitects,  with  their  volutes  and  fillets,  and  to  tell  him  tliat 
there  were  only  two  real  orders,  and  tliat  there  could  never  be 
more.*  For  we  now  find  that  these  two  great  and  real  orders 
are  representative  of  the  two  great  influences  which  must  for 
ever  divide  the  heart  of  man :  the  one  of  Lawful  Discipline, 
with  its  perfection  and  oi’der,  but  its  danger  of  degeneracy 
into  Formalism;  the  other  of  Lawful  Freedom,  with  its  vigor 
and  variety,  but  its  danger  of  degeneracy  into  Licentiousness. 

§  XLi.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  give  any  illustrations  here  of 
the  most  elaborate  developments  of  either  order ;  they  will  be  bet¬ 
ter  given  on  a  larger  scale  :  but  the  examples  in  Plate  XVII.  and 
X\  III.  represent  the  two  methods  of  ornament  in  their  earliest 
appliance.  The  two  lower  capitals  in  Plate  XVII.  are  a  pure 
type  of  the  concave  school ;  the  tivo  in  the  centre  of  Plate 
XVIII.,  of  the  convex.  At  the  top  of  Plate  XVIII.  are  two 
Lombardic  capitals ;  that  on  the  left  from  Sta.  Sofia  at  Padua, 


*  Chap.  I. ,  §  xis. 


328 


.XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


that  on  the  right  from  the  cortile  of  St.  Ambrogio  at  Milan. 
They  both  have  the  concave  angle  tiaincation ;  but  being  of 
date  prior  to  the  time  when  the  idea  of  the  concave  bell  was 
developed,  they  are  otherwise  left  square,  and  decorated  with 
the  surface  ornament  characteristic  of  the  convex  school.  The 
relation  of  the  designs  to  each  other  is  interesting ;  the  cross 
being  prominent  in  the  centre  of  each,  but  more  richly  relieved 
in  that  from  St.  Ambrogio.  The  two  beneath  are  from  the 
southern  portico  of  St.  Mark’s ;  the  shafts  having  been  of  dif¬ 
ferent  lengths,  and  neither,  in  all  probability,  originally  in¬ 
tended  for  their  present  place,  they  have  double  abaci,  of  which 
the  uppermost  is  the  cornice  running  round  the  whole  facade. 
The  zigzagged  capital  is  highly  curious,  and  in  its  place  very 

effective  and  beautiful ;  although 
one  of  the  exceptions  which  it 
was  above  noticed  that  we  should 
sometimes  find  to  the  law  stated 
in  §  XV.  above. 

§  XLii.  The  lower  capita), 
which  is  also  of  the  true  convex 

t 

school,  exhibits  one  of  the  condi¬ 
tions  of  the  spuiTed  type,  e  of 
Fig.  XXII.,  respecting  which  one 
or  two  points  must  be  noticed. 

If  we  were  to  take  up  the 
plan  of  tlie  simple  spur,  repre¬ 
sented  at  e  in  Fig.  XXII.,  p.  110,  and  treat  it,  with  the  salvia 
leaf,  as  we  did  the  spur  of  the  base,  we  should  have  for  the 
head  of  our  capital  a  plan  like  Fig.  LXYI.,  which  is  actually 
that  of  one  of  the  capitals  of  the  Fondaco  de’  Turchi  at  Venice  ; 
with  this  only  difference,  that  the  intermediate  curves  between 
the  spurs  would  have  been  circular :  the  reason  they  are  not  so, 
here,  is  that  the  decoration,  instead  of  being  confined  to  the 
spur,  is  now  spread  over  the  whole  mass,  and  contoure  are 
therefore  given  to  the  interni^ediate  curves  which  fit  tliem  for 
this  ornament ;  the  inside  shaded  space  being  the  head,  of  the 
shaft,  and  the  outer,  the  abacus.  The  reader  has  in  Fig. 


Fig.  LXVL 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORXICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


329 


LXYI.  a  cliaracteristic  type  of  the  plans  of  the  spurred  capitals, 
generally  preferred  by  the  sculptors  of  the  convex  school,  but 
treated  with  infinite  variety,  the  spurs  often  being  cut  into 
animal  forms,  or  the  incisions  between  them  multiiilied,  for 
richer  effect ;  and  in  our  own  Norman  capital  the  type  c  of 
Fig.  XXII.  is  variously  subdivided  by  incisions  on  its  sloj^e, 
approximating  in  general  effect  to  many  conditions  of  the  real 
spurred  type,  e,  but  totally  differing  from  them  in  principle. 

§  XLiii.  The  treatment  of  the  spur  in  the  concave  school  is 
far  more  complicated,  being  borrowed  in  nearly  every  case 
from  the  original  Corinthian.  Its  plan  may  be  generally 
represented  by  Fig.  LXYII.  The  spurfitself  is  carved  into 


Fig  Lxvm. 


Fig.  LXVn. 


a  curling  tendril  or  concave  leaf,  which  supports  the  project¬ 
ing  angle  of  a  four-sided  abacus,  whose  hollow  sides  fall  back 
behind  the  bell,  and  have  generally  a  rosette  or  other  orna> 
ment  in  their  centres.  The  mediaeval  architects  often  put 
another  square  abacus  above  all,  as  represented  by  the  shaded 
portion  of  Fig.  LXYII.,  and  some  massy  conditions  of  this 
form,  elaborately  ornamented,  are  very  beautiful ;  but  it  is  apt 
to  become  rigid  and  effeminate,  as  assuredly  it  is  in  the  original 
Corinthian,  which  is  thoroughly  mean  and  meagre  in  its  upper 
tendrils  and  abacus. 

§  XLiv.  The  lowest  capital  in  Plate  XYIII.  is  from  St. 
Mark’s,  and  singular  in  having  double  spurs ;  it  is  therefore  to 


330 


XXVII.  THE  CORNICE  AND  CAPITAI* 


DECORATION. 


be  compared  with  the  doubly  spurred  base,  also  from  St  Mark’s, 
in  Plate  XI.  In  other  resjiects  it  is  a  good  example  of  the 
union  of  breadth  of  mass  with  subtlety  of  curvature,  which 
characterises  nearly  all  the  spurred  capitals  of  the  convex 
school.  Its  plan  is  given  in  Fig.  LXVIII.  :  the  inner  shaded 
circle  is  the  head  of  the  shaft;  the  white  cross,  the  bottom 
of  the  capital,  which  expands  itself  into  the  external  shaded 
portions  at  the  top.  Each  spur,  thus  formed,  is.  cut  like  a 
ship’s  bow,  with  the  Doric  profile ;  the  surfaces  so  obtained 
are  then  charged  with  arborescent  oinament. 

§  XLv.  I  shall  not  here  farther  exemplify  the  conditions  of 
the  treatment  of  thQ  spur,  because  I  am  afraid  of  confusing  the 
reader’s  mind,  and  diminishing  the  distinctness  of  his  concep¬ 
tion  of  the  differences  between  the  two  great  orders,  which  it 
has  been  my  principal  object  to  develope  throughout  this 
chapter.  If  all  my  readers  lived  in  London,  I  could  at  once 
fix  this  difference  in  their  minds  by  a  simple,  yet  somewhat 
curious  illustration.  In  many  parts  of  the  west  end  of  Lon¬ 
don,  as,  for  instance,  at  the  corners  of  Pelgrave  Scpiare,  and 
the  north  side  of  Grosvenor  Square,  the  Corinthian  capitals  of 
newly-built  houses  are  put  into  cages  of  wire.  The  wire  cage 
is  the  exact  form  of  the  typical  capital  of  the  convex  school ; 
the  Corinthian  capital,  within,  is  a  finished  and  highly  deco¬ 
rated  example  of  the  concave.  The  space  between  the  cage 
and  capital  is  the  limit  of  ornamentation. 

§  XL VI.  Tliose  of  my  readers,  however,  to  whom  this  illus¬ 
tration  is  inaccessible,  must  be  content  with  the  two  profiles, 
13  and  11,  on  Plate  XX .  If  they  will  glance  along  the  line 
of  sections  from  1  to  6,  they  will  see  that  the  profile  13  is  their 
final  development,  with  a  superadded  cornice  for  its  abacus.  It 
is  taken  from  a  capital  in  a  very  important  ruin  of  a  palace, 
near  the  Pialto  of  V enice,  and  hereafter  to  be  described  ;  the 
projection,  outside  of  its  principal  curve,  is  the  profile  of  its 
superadded  leaf  ornamentation  ;  it  may  be  taken  as  one  of  the 
simplest,  yet  a  perfect  tyjie  of  the  eoncave  group. 

§  XLvii.  The  profile  U  is  that  of  the  capital  of  the  main 
shaft  of  the  northern  portico  of  St.  Mark’s,  the  most  finished 


DECORATION.  XXVII.  THE  CORXICE  AND  CAPITAL. 


331 


example  I  ever  met  witli  of  the  convex  family,  to  which,  in 
spite  of  the  central  inward  bend  of  its  profile,  it  is  marked  as 
distinctly  belonging,  by  the  bold  convex  curve  at  its  root, 
springing  from  the  shaft  in  the  line  of  the  Christian  Doric 
cornice,  and  exactly  reversing  the  structure  of  the  other  pro¬ 
file,  which  rises  from  the  shaft,  like  a  palm  leaf  fi'oni  its 
stem.  Farther,  in  the  profile  13,  the  innermost  line  is  that 
of  the  bell ;  but  in  the  profile  14,  the  outermost  line  is  that 
of  the  bell,  and  the  inner  line  is  the  limit  of  the  incisions  of 
the  chisel,  in  undercutting  a  reticulated  veil  of  ornament,  sur¬ 
rounding  a  fiower  like  a  lily ;  most  ingeniously,  and,  I  hope, 
justly,  conjectured  by  the  Marchese  Selvatico  to  have  been  in¬ 
tended  for  an  imitation  of  the  capitals  of  the  temple  of  Solo¬ 
mon,  which  Hii’am  made,  with  “  nets  of  checker  work,  and 
wreaths  of  chain  work  for  the  chapiters  that  were  on  the  top 
of  the  pillars  .  .  .  and  the  chapiters  that  were  upon  the  top  of 
the  pillars  were  of  lily  work  in  the  porch.”  (1  Kings,  vii.  17, 

19.) 

§  XLViii.  On  this  exquisite  capital  there  is  imposed  an 
abacus  of  the  profile  with  which  we  began  our  investigation 
long  ago,  the  profile  a  of  Fig.  V.  This  abacus  is  formed  by 
the  cornice  already  given,  a,  of  Plate  XYI. :  and  therefore  we 
have,  in  this  lovely  Venetian  capital,  the  summary  of  the  re¬ 
sults  of  our  investigation,  from  its  beginning  to  its  close  :  the 
type  of  the  first  cornice  ;  the  decollation  of  it,  in  its  emergence 
from  the  classical  models  ;  the  gathering  into  the  capital ;  the 
superimposition  of  the  secondary  cornice,  and  the  refinement 
of  the  bell  of  the  capital  by  triple  curvature  in  the  two  limits 
of  chiselling.  I  cannot  express  the  exquisite  refinements  of 
the  curves  on  the  small  scale  of  Plate  XY. ;  I  will  give  them 
more  accurately  in  a  larger  engraving  ;  but  the  scale  on  whic^» 
they  are  here  given  will  not  prevent  the  reader  from  per¬ 
ceiving,  and  let  him  note  it  thoughtfully,  that  the  outer  curve 
of  the  noble  capital  is  the  one  which  was  our  first  example 
associated  curves  ;  that  I  have  had  no  need,  throughout  the 
whole  of  our  inquiry,  to  refer  to  any  other  ornamental  line 
than  the  three  which  I  at  first  chose,  the  simplest  of  those 


332 


XXYII.  THE  CORHICE  AND  CAPITAL.  DECORATION. 


wliicli  I^ature  set  by  chance  before  me ;  and  that  this  lily,  of 
the  delicate  Venetian  marble,  has  but  been  wrought,  by  the 
highest  human  art,  into  the  same  line  which  the  clouds  disclose, 
when  they  break  from  the  rough  rocks  of  the  flank  of  the 
Matterhorn. 


CHAPTEK  XXYIIL 


THE  AKCHIVOLT  AND  APERTUEE. 

§  I.  If  tlie  windows  and  doors  of  some  of  onr  best  nortli- 
ern  Gotliic  buildings  were  built  up,  and  the  ornament  of  tlieir 
archivolts  concealed,  there  would  often  remain  little  but  masses 
of  dead  wall  and  unsightly  buttress ;  the  whole  vitality  of  the 
building  consisting  in  the  graceful  proportions  or  rich  mould¬ 
ings  of  its  apertures.  It  is  not  so  in  the  south,  where,  fre- 
Cjuently,  the  aperture  is  a  mere  dark  spot  on  the  variegated 
wall ;  but  there  the  column,  with  its  horizontal  or  curvea 
architrave,  assumes  an  importance  of  another  kind,  equally 
dependent  upon  the  methods  of  lintel  and  archivolt  decoration. 
These,  though  in  their  richness  of  minor  variety  they  defy  all 
exemplification,  may  be  very  broadly  generalized. 

Of  the  mere  lintel,  indeed,  there  is  no  specific  decoration, 
nor  can  be  ;  it  has  no  organism  to  direct  its  ornament,  and 
therefore  may  receive  any  kind  and  degree  of  ornament,  ac¬ 
cording  to  its  position.  In  a  Greek  temple,  it  has  meagre  hori¬ 
zontal  lines  ;  in  a  Romanesque  church,  it  becomes  a  row  of 
upright  niches,  with  an  apostle  in  each  ;  and  may  become  any¬ 
thing  else  at  the  architect’s  will.  But  the  arch  head  has  a  natin 

O 

ral  organism,  which  separates  its  ornament  into  distinct  families, 
broadly  definable, 

§  II.  In  speaking  of  the  arch-line  and  arch  masonry,  we 
considered  the  arch  to  be  cut  straight  through  the  wall ;  so 
that,  if  half  built,  it  would  hav'e  the  appearance  at  a.  Fig. 
LXIX.  But  in  the  chapter  on  Form  of  Apertures,  we  found 
that  the  side  of  the  arch,  or  jamb  of  the  aperture,  might  often 
require  to  be  bevelled,  so  as  to  give  the  section  Fig.  LXIX. 
It  is  easily  conceivable  that  when  two  ranges  of  voussoirs  were 


334 


XXYIII.  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AXD  APERTURE.  DECORATION. 


Fig.  LXIX. 


used,  one  over  another,  it  would  he  easier  to  leave  those  be¬ 
neath,  of  a  smaller  diameter,  than  to  bevel  them  to  accurate 
junction  with  those  outside.  Whether  in¬ 
fluenced  by  this  facility,  or  by  decorativ’e  in¬ 
stinct,  the  early  northern  builders  often 
substitute  for  the  bevel  the  third  condition, 
0,  of  Fig.  LXIX. ;  so  that,  of  the  three 
forms  in  that  figure,  a  belongs  principally 
to  the  south,  g  to  the  north,  and  h  indiffer¬ 
ently  to  both. 

§  III.  If  the  arch  in  the  northern  building 
be  very  deep,  its  depth  will  probably  be  at¬ 
tained  by  a  succession  of  steps,  like  that  in 
G  /  and  the  richest  results  of  northern  archi- 
volt  decoration  are  entirely  based  on  the 
aggregation  of  the  ornament  of  these  several 
steps  ;  while  those  of  the  south  are  only  the 
complete  finish  and  perfection  of  the  orna¬ 
ment  of  one.  In  this  ornament  of  the  single 
arch,  the  points  for  general  note  are  very  few. 


§  nu  It  was,  in  the  first  instance,  derived  from  the  classical 
architrave,*  and  the  early  Eomanesque  arches  are  nothing  but 
such  an  architrave,  bent  round.  The  horizontal  lines  of  the 
latter  become  semicircular,  but  their  importance  and  value  re¬ 
main  exactly  the  same  ;  their  continuity  is  preserved  across  all 
the  voussoirs,  and  the  joints  and  functions  of  the  latter  are 
studiously  concealed.  As  the  builders  get  accustomed  to  the 
arch,  and  love  it  better,  they  cease  to  be  ashamed  of  its  struc¬ 
ture  :  the  voussoirs  begin  to  show  themselves  confidently,  and 
fight  for  precedence  with  the  architrave  lines ;  and  there  is  an 
entanglement  of  the  two  structures,  in  consequence,  like  th.^ 
circular  and  radiating  lines  of  a  cobweb,  until  at  last  the  archi- 


*  The  architrave  is  properly  the  horizontal  piece  of  stone  laid  across  the 
tops  of  the  pillars  in  Greek  buildings,  and  commonly  marked  with  horizon¬ 
tal  lines,  obtained  by  slight  projections  of  its  surface,  while  it  is  protected 
above  in  the  richer  orders,  by  a  small  cornice. 


DECORATION.  XXYIII.  THE  ARCniYOLT  AX'D  APERTURE. 


335 


trave  lines  get  '\Yorsted,  and  driven  awaj^  outside  of  the  voiis- 
soirs ;  being  permitted  to  stay  at  all  only  on  condition  of  their 
dressing  themselYes  in  mediseYal  costume,  as  in  the  plate  oji- 
posite. 

§  Y.  In  other  cases,  hoY’eYer,  before  the  entire  discomfiture 
of  the  ardiitraYe,  a  treaty  of  peace  is  signed  between  the  ad¬ 
verse  parties  on  these  terms  :  That  the  architrave  shall  en¬ 
tirely  dismiss  its  inner  three  meagre  lines,  and  leave  the  space 
of  them  to  the  voussoirs,  to  display  themselves  after  their 
manner ;  but  that,  in  return  for  this  concession,  the  architrave 
shall  have  leave  to  expand  the  small  cornice  which  usually 
terminates  it  (the  reader  had  better  look  at  the  original  form 
in  that  of  the  Ei-echtheum,  in  the  middle  of  the  Elo-in  room  of 
the  British  Mnsenm)  into  bolder  prominence,  and  even  to  put 
brackets  under  it,  as  if  it  were  a  roof  cornice,  and  thus  mark 
with  a  bold  shadow  the  terminal  line  of  the  voussoirs.  This 
condition  is  seen  in  the  arch  from  St.  Pietro  of  Pistoja,  Plate 
XIII.,  above. 

§  VI.  If  the  Gothic  spirit  of  the  building  be  thoroughly 
determined,  and  victorious,  the  architrave  cornice  is  com¬ 
pelled  to  relinquish  its  classical  form,  and  take  the  profile  of  a 
Gothic  cornice  or  dripstone ;  while,  in  other  cases,  as  in  much 
of  the  Gothic  of  Verona,  it  is  forced  to  disappear  altogether. 
But  the  voussoirs  then  concede,  on  the  other  hand,  so  much 
of  their  dignity  as  to  receive  a  running  ornament  of  foliage  or 
animals,  like  a  classical  frieze,  and  continuons  round  the  arch. 
In  fact,  the  contest  between  the  adversaries  may  be  seen  rnn- 
ning  through  all  the  early  architecture  of  Italy  :  success  in¬ 
clining  sometimes  to  the  one,  sometimes  to  the  other,  and 
various  kinds  of  ti’uce  or  reconciliation  being  effected  between 
them :  sometimes  merely  formal,  sometimes  honest  and  affec¬ 
tionate,  but  with  no  regular  succession  in  time.  The  greatest 
victory  of  the  voussoir  is  to  annihilate  the  cornice,  and  re 
ceive  an  ornament  of  its  own  outline,  and  entirely  limited 
by  its  own  joints :  and  yet  this  may  be  seen  in  the  very  early 
apse  of  Mu  ran  0. 

§  VII.  The  most  usual  condition,  however,  is  that  unity  of 


336 


XXVnr.  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AND  APERTURE.  DECORATION. 


Fig.  LXX. 


Pi 


the  two  members  above  described,  §  v.,  and  which  may  be 

generally  represented  by  the  archivolt  sec¬ 
tion  Fig.  LXX. ;  and  from  this  descend 
a  family  of  Gothic  archivolts  of  the  liigln 
est  importance.  For  the  cornice,  thus  at¬ 
tached  to  the  arch,  suffers  exactly  the  same 
changes  as  the  level  cornice,  or  capital ;  re¬ 
ceives,  in  due  time,  its  elaborate  ogee  pro¬ 
file  and  leaf  ornaments,  like  Fig.  8  or  9  of 
Plate  XY. ;  and,  when  the  shaft  loses  its 
shape,  and  is  lost  in  the  later  Gothic  jamb, 
the  archivolt  has  influence  enough  to  intro¬ 
duce  tliis  ogee  profile  in  the  jamb  also, 
through  the  banded  impost :  and  v/e  immediately  find  our¬ 
selves  involved  in  deep  successions  of  ogee  mouldings  in  sides 
of  doors  and  windows,  which  never  would  have  been  thought 
of,  but  for  the  obstinate  resistance  of  the  classical  architrave 
to  the  attempts  of  the  voussoir  at  its  degradation  or  banishment. 

§  vin.  This,  then,  will  be  the  first  great  head  under  which 
we  shall  in  future  find  it  convenient  to  arrano;e  a  larffe  num- 
her  of  archivolt  decorations.  It  is  the  distinctively  Southern 
and  Byzantine  form,  and  typically  represented  by  the  section 
of  Fig.  LXX. ;  and  it  is  susceptible  of  almost  every  species 
of  surface  ornament,  respecting  which  only  this  general  law 
may  be  asserted :  that,  while  the  outside  or  vertical  surface 
may  properly  be  decorated,  and  yet  the  soffit  or  under  surface 
left  plain,  the  soffit  is  never  to  be  decorated,  and  the  outer 
surface  left  plain.  Much  beautiful  sculpture  is,  in  the  best 
Byzantine  buildings,  half  lost  by  being  put  under  soffits  ;  but 
the  eye  is  led  to  discover  it,  and  even  to  demand  it,  by  the 
rich  chasing  of  the  outside  of  the  voussoirs.  It  would  have 
been  an  hypocrisy  to  carve  them  externally  only.  But  thei-e 
is  not  the  smallest  excuse  for  carving  the  soffit,  and  not  the 
outside  ;  for,  in  that  case,  we  approach  the  building  under  the 
idea  of  its  being  perfectly  plain  ;  we  do  not  look  for  the  soffit 
decoration,  and,  of  course,  do  not  see  it :  or,  if  we  do,  it  is 
merely  to  regret  that  it  should  not  be  in  a  better  place.  In 


DECORATION.  XXVIII,  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AX'D  APEETUEE. 


337 


tlie  Renaissance  arcliitects,  it  may,  perhaps,  for  once,  be  con¬ 
sidered  a  merit,  that  they  put  tlieir  had  decoration  systemat¬ 
ically  in  the  places  where  we  should  least  expect  it,  and  can 
seldomest  see  it Approaching  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco,  you 
probably  will  regret  the  extreme  plainness  and  barrenness  of 
the  window  traceries  ;  but,  if  you  will  go  very  close  to  the 
wall  beneath  the  windows,  you  may,  on  sunny  days,  discover  a 
quantity  of  panel  decorations  which  the  ingenious  architect  has 
concealed  under  the  soffits. 

The  custom  of  decorating  the  arch  soffit  with  panelling  is  a 
Roman  application  of  the  Greek  roof  ornament,  which,  what¬ 
ever  its  intrinsic  merit  (compare  Chap.  XXIX.  §  iv.),  may 
rationally  be  applied  to  waggon  vaults,  as  of  St.  Peter’s,  and 
to  arch  soffits  under  which  one  walks.  But  the  Renaissance 
architects  had  not  wit  enough  to  reflect  that  people  usually  do 
not  walk  through  windows. 

§  IX,  So  far,  then,  of  the  Southern  archivolt :  In  Fig. 
LXIX.,  above,  it  will  be  remembered  that  c  rejiresents  the 
simplest  form  of  the  Northern.  In  the  farther  development 
of  this,  which  we  have  next  to  consider,  the  voussoirs,  in  con¬ 
sequence  of  their  own  negligence  or  over-confidence,  sustain  a 
total  and  irrecoverable  defeat.  That  archivolt  is  in  its  earliest 
conditions  perfectly  pure  and  undecorated, — the  siinjilest  and 
rudest  of  Gothic  forms.  Necessarily,  when  it  falls  on  the  pier, 
and  meets  that  of  the  opposite  arch,  the  entire  section  of 
masonry  is  in  the  shape  of  a  cross,  and  is  carried  by  the  cross- 
let  shaft,  which  we  above  stated  to  be  distinctive  of  Northern 
design.  I  am  more  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  sudden  and 
fixed  development  of  this  type  of  archivolt  than  for  any  other 
architectural  transition  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  But 
'there  it  is,  pure  and  firmly  established,  as  early  as  the  building 
of  St.  Michele  of  Pavia;  and  we  have  thenceforward  only  to 
observe  what  comes  of  it. 

§  X.  AYe  find  it  first,  as  I  said,  jierfectly  barren ;  cornice 
and  architrave  altogether  ignored,  the  existence  of  such  things 
practically  denied,  and  a  plain,  deep-cut  recess  with  a  single 
mighty  shadow  occupying  their  place.  The  voussoirs,  think- 


338 


XXVIII.  THE  ARCHIYOLT  AXD  APERTURE.  DECORATION, 


iiig  tlieir  great  adversary  utterly  defeated,  are  at  no  trouble 
to  show  themselves ;  visible  enough  in  both  the  upper  and 
under  archivolts,  they  are  content  to  wait  the  time  when,  as 
might  have  been  hoped,  they  should  receive  a  new  decoration 
peculiar  to  themselves. 

§  XI.  In  this  state  of  paralysis,  or  expectation,  their  flank 
is  turned  by  an  insidious  chamfer.  The  edges  of  the  two  great 
blank  archivolts  are  felt  to  be  painfully  conspicuous ;  all  the 
four  are  at  once  beaded  or  chamfered,  as  at  h,  Fig.  LXX. ;  a 
rich  group  of  deep  lines,  running  concentrically  with  the  arch, 
is  the  result  on  the  instant,  and  the  fate  of  the  voussoirs  is 
sealed.  They  surrender  at  once  without  a  struggle,  and  uncon¬ 
ditionally  ;  the  chamfers  deepen  and  multijily  themselves,  cover 
the  soffit,  ally  themselves  with  other  forms  resulting  from 
groujied  shafts  or  traceiles,  and  settle  into  the  inextricable  rich¬ 
ness  of  the  fully  developed  Gothic  jamb  and  arch  ;  farther 
complicated  in  the  end  by  the  addition  of  niches  to  their 
recesses,  as  above  described. 

§  XII.  The  vmussoirs,  in  despair,  go  over  to  the  classical 
camp,  in  hope  of  receiving  some  help  or  tolerance  from  their 
former  enemies.  They  receive  it  indeed :  but  as  traitors  should, 
to  their  own  eternal  dishonor.  They  are  sharply  chiselled  at 
the  joints,  or  rusticated,  or  cut  into  masks  and  satyrs’  heads, 
and  so  set  forth  and  pilloried  in  the  various  detestable  forms  of 
which  the  simplest  is  given  above  in  Plate  XIII.  (on  the  left): 
and  others  may  be  seen  in  nearly  every  large  building  in  Lon 
don,  more  especially  in  the  bridges ;  and,  as  if  in  pure  spite  a\ 
the  treatment  they  had  received  from  the  arch i volt,  they  are^ 
now  not  content  with  vigorously  showing  their  lateral  joints, 
but  shape  themselves  into  right-angled  steps  at  their  heads, 
cutting  to  pieces  their  limiting  line,  which  otherwise  would 
have  had  sympathy  with  that  of  the  arch,  and  fitting  themselvca 
to  their  new  friend,  the  Penaissance  Puled  Copy-book  wall. 
It  had  been  better  they  had  died  ten  times  over,  in  their  own 
ancient  cause,  than  thus  prolonged  their  existence. 

§  XIII.  We  bid  them  farewell  in  their  dishonor,  to  return 
to  our  victorious  chamfer.  It  had  not,  we  said,  obtained  so 


DKCOKATION.  XXVIII.  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AXD  APERTURE. 


335 


easy  a  conquest,  unless  by  the  help  of  certain  forms  of  the 
.grouped  shaft.  Tlie  chamfer  was  quite  enough  to  decorate 
the  arcliivolts,  if  there  were  no  more  than  two  ;  hut  if,  as 
above  noticed  in  §  iii.,  the  arcliivolt  was  very  deep,  and  com¬ 
posed  of  a  succession  of  such  steps,  the  multitude  of  chain fer- 
ings  were  felt  to  be  weak  and  insipid,  and  instead  of  dealing 
with  the  outside  edges  of  the  arcliivolts,  the  group  was  soft¬ 
ened  by  introducing  solid  shafts  in  their  dark  inner  angles. 
This,  the  manliest  and  best  condition  of  the  early  northern 
jamb  and  arcliivolt,  is  represented  in  section  at  tig.  12  of  Plate 
II.  ;  and  its  simplest  aspect  in  Plate  Y.,  from  the  Broletto  of 
Como, — an  interesting  example,  because  there  the  voussoirs 
being  in  the  midst  of  their  above-described  southern  contest 
with  the  architrave,  were  better  prepared  for  the  flank  attack 
upon  them  by  the  shaft  and  chamfer,  and  make  a  noble  resist¬ 
ance,  with  the  help  of  color,  in  which  even  the  shaft  itself 
gets  slightly  worsted,  and  cut  across  in  several  places,  like 
General  Zach’s  column  at  Mareniro. 

o 

§  XIV.  The  shaft,  however,  rapidly  rallies,  and  brings  up  its 
own  peculiar  decorations  to  its  aid  ;  and  the  intermediate  archi- 
volts  receive  running  or  panelled  oniaments,  also,  until  we  reach 
the  exquisitely  rich  conditions  of  our  own  IS^^orman  arcliivolts, 
and  of  the  parallel  Lombardic  designs,  such  as  the  entrance  of 
the  Dnomo,  and  of  San  Fermo,  at  Yerona.  This  chano-e, 
Jiowever,  occupies  little  time,  and  takes  place  principally  in 
doorways,  owing  to  the  greater  thickness  of  wall,  and  depth  of 
arcliivolt ;  so  that  we  find  the  rich  shafted  succession  of  orna¬ 
ment,  in  the  doorway  and  window  aperture,  associated  with  the 
earliest  and  rudest  clonhle  arcliivolt,  in  the  nave  arches,  at  St.  * 
Michele  of  Pavia.  The  nave  arches,  therefore,  are  most 
usually  treated  by  the  chamfer,  and  the  vonssoirs  are  there 
defeated  much  sooner  than  by  the  shafted  arrangements,  which 
they  resist,  as  we  saw,  in  the  south  by  color ;  and  even  in  the 
north,  though  forced  out  of  their  own  shape,  they  take  that  of 
birds’  or  monsters’  heads,  which  for  some  time  peck  and  pinch 
the  rolls  of  the  arcliivolt  to  their  hearts’ content ;  while  the 
Kornian  zigzag  ornament  allies  itself  with  them,  each  zigzag 


340 


XXVIII.  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AXD  APERTURE.  DECORATION. 


often  restraining  itself  amicably  betv/een  tlie  joints  of  each 
vonssoir  in  the  ruder  work,  and  even  in  the  highly  finished 
arches,  distinctly  presenting  a  concentric  or  sunlike  arrange¬ 
ment  of  lines  ;  so  much  so,  as  to  prompt  the  conjecture,  above 
stated.  Chap.  XX.  §  xxvi.,  that  all  such  ornaments  were  in¬ 
tended  to  be  typical  of  light  issuing  from  the  orb  of  the  arch. 
I  doubt  the  intention,  but  acknowledge  the  resemblance ; 
which  perhaps  goes  far  to  account  for  the  never-failing  delight- 
fulness  of  this  zigzag  decoration.  The  diminution  of  the  zig; 
zag,  as  it  gradually  shares  the  defeat  of  the  voussoir,  and  is  at 
last  overwhelmed  by  the  complicated,  railroad-like  fluency  of 
the  later  Gothic  mouldings,  is  to  me  one  of  the  saddest  sights 
in  the  drama  of  architecture. 

§  XV.  One  farther  circumstance  is  deserving  of  especial  note 
in  Plate  Y.,  the  greater  depth  of  the  voussoirs  at  the  top  of 
the  arch.  This  has  been  above  alluded  to  as  a  feature  of  Hood 

O 

construction,  Chap.  XI.,  §  iii. ;  it  is  to  be  noted  now  as  one 
still  more  valuable  in  decoration :  for  when  wo  arrive  at  the 
deep  succession  of  concentric  archi volts,  with  which  northern 
portals,  and  many  of  the  associated  windows,  are  headed,  we 
immediately  find  a  ditficulty  in  reconciling  the  outer  curve 
with  the  inner.  If,  as  is  sometimes  the  case,  the  width  of  the 
group  of  archivolts  be  twice  or  three  times  that  of  the  inner 
aperture,  the  inner  arch  may  be  distinctly  pointed,  and  the 
outer  one,  if  drawn  with  concentric  arcs,  approximate  very 
nearly  to  a  round  arch.  This  is  actually  the  case  in  the  later 
Gothic  of  Yerona;  the  outer  line  of  the  archivolt  having  a 
hardly  perceptible  point,  and  every  inner  arch  of  course  form- 
‘ing  the  point  more  distinctly,  till  the  innermost  becomes  a 
lancet.  By  far  the  nobler  method,  however,  is  that  of  the 
pure  early  Italian  Gothic ;  to  make  every  outer  arch  a  magni¬ 
fied  facsimile  of  the  innermost  one,  every  arc  including  the 
same  number  of  degrees,  but  degrees  of  a  larger  circle.  The 
result  is  the  condition  represented  in  Plate  Y.,  often  found  in 
far  bolder  development ;  exquisitely  springy  and  elastic  in  its 
expression,  and  entirely  free  from  the  heaviness  and  monotony 
of  the  deep  northern  archivolts. 


DECORATION.  XXYIII.  THE  ARCHIVOLT  AND  APERTURE. 


341 


§  XYi.  "We  liave  not  spoken  of  the  intermediate  form,  5,  of 
Fig.  LXIX.  (which  its  coiiYenience  for  admission  of  light  has 
rendered  common  in  nearly  all  architectures),  because  it  has 
no  transitions  peculiar  to  itself :  in  the  north  it  sometimes 
shares  tiie  fate  of  the  outer  architraYe,  and  is  channelled  into 
longitudinal  mouldings  ;  sometimes  remains  smooth  and  massy, 
as  in  military  architecture,  or  in  the  simpler  forms  of  domestic 
and  ecclesiastical.  In  Italy  it  receiYes  surface  decoration  like 
the  architraYe,  but  has,  perhaps,  something  of  peculiar  expres¬ 
sion  in  being  placed  lietween  the  ti-acery  of  the  window  Y'ithin, 
and  its  shafts  and  tabernacle  umrk  wdthout,  as  in  the  Duomo 
of  Florence :  in  this  position  it  is  always  kept  smooth  in  sur¬ 
face,  and  inlaid  (or  painted)  with  delicate  arabesques ;  udiile 
the  tracery  and  the  tabernacle  work  are  richly  sculptured. 
The  example  of  its  treatment  by  colored  Youssoirs,  given  in 
Plate  XIX.,  may  be  useful  to  the  reader  as  a  kind  of  central 
expression  of  the  aperture  decoration  of  the  pure  Italian 
Gothic  ; — aperture  decoration  proper  ;  applying  no  shaft  work 
to  the  jambs,  but  leaving  the  bevelled  opening  unenriched  ; 
usin<r  on  the  outer  archivolt  the  voussoirs  and  concentric 
architrave  in  reconcilement  (the  latter  having,  however,  some 
connection  with  the  Xorman  zigzag) ;  and  beneath  them,  the 
pure  Italian  two-pieced  and  mid-cusped  arch,  with  rich  cusp 
decoration.  It  is  a  Yeroiiese  arch,  probably  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  finished  with  extreme  care ;  the  red  portions  are 
all  in  brick,  delicately  cast :  and  the  most  remarkable  feature 
of  the  whole  is  the  small  piece  of  brick  inlaid  on  the  angle  of 
each  stone  voussoir,  with  a  most  just  feeling,  which  every 
artist  will  at  once  understand,  that  the  color  ought  not  to  be 
let  2:0  all  at  once. 

§  XYii.  We  have  traced  the  various  conditions  of  treatment 

O 

in  the  archivolt  alone ;  but,  except  in  what  has  been  said  of 
the  peculiar  expression  of  the  voussoirs,  we  might  thronghout 
have  spoken  in  the  same  terms  of  the  jamb.  Even  a  parallel 
to  the  exjiression  of  the  voussoir  may  be  found  in  the  Lom- 
bardic  and  Xorman  divisions  of  the  shafts,  by  zigzags  and 
other  transverse  ornamentation,  which  in  the  end  are  all  swept 


342 


XXVIII.  THE  xVRCIIIVOLT  AX'D  APERTURE.  DECORATION. 


away  by  the  canaliciilated  moiiklings.  Then,  in  the  recesses 
of  these  and  of  the  arcliivolts  alike,  the  niche  and  statue  deco¬ 
ration  develops  itself;  and  the  vaulted  and  cavernous  apertures 
are  covered  with  incrustations  of  fretwork,  and  with  every 
various  application  of  foliage  to  their  fantastic  mouldings. 

§  xviii.  I  liave  kept  the  imjuiry  into  the  proper  ornament 
of  the  archivolt  wholly  free  from  all  confusion  with  the  ques¬ 
tions  of  beauty  in  tracery;  for,  in  fact,  all  tracery  is  a  mere 
multiplication  and  entanglement  of  small  arcliivolts,  and  its 
cusp  ornament  is  a  minor  condition  of  that  proper  to  the  spaii- 
dril.  It  does  not  reach  its  completely  defined  form  until  the 
jamb  and  archivolt  have  been  divided  into  longitudinal  mould¬ 
ings  ;  and  then  the  tracery  is  formed  by  the  innermost  group 
of  the  shafts  or  fillets,  bent  into  whatever  forms  or  foliations 
the  designer  may  choose ;  but  this  with  a  delicacy  of  adapta¬ 
tion  which  I  rather  choose  to  illustrate  by  particular  examples, 
of  which  we  shall  meet  with  many  in  the  course  of  our  inquiry, 
than  to  delay  the  reader  by  specifying  here.  As  for  the  con¬ 
ditions  of  beauty  in  the  disposition  of  the  tracery  bars,  I  see 
no  hope  of  dealing  with  the  subject  fairly  but  by  devoting,  if 
I  can  find  time,  a  separate  essay  to  it — which,  in  itself,  need 
not  be  long,  but  would  involve,  before  it  could  be  completed, 
the  examination  of  the  whole  mass  of  materials  lately  collected 
l)y  the  indefatigable  industry  of  the  English  architects  who 
have  devoted  their  special  attention  to  this  subject,  and  which 
are  of  the  highest  value  as  illustrating  the  chronological  suc¬ 
cession  or  mechanical  structure  of  tracerv,  luit  which,  in  most 
cases,  touch  on  their  {esthetic  merits  incidentally  only.  Of 
works  of  this  kind,  by  far  the  best  I  have  met  with  is  Mr. 
Edmund  Sharpe’s,  on  Decorated  IVindows,  which  seems  tome, 
as  far  as  a  cursory  glance  can  enable  me  to  judge,  to  exhaust 
the  subject  as  resjiects  English  Gothic ;  and  which  may  lie 
recommended  to  the  readers  who  are  interested  in  tlie  subject, 
as  containing  a  clear  and  masterly  enunciation  of  the  general 
principles  by  which  the  design  of  tracery  has  been  regulated, 
from  its  first  development  to  its  final  degradation. 


CHAPTEK  XXIX. 


THE  KOOF. 

§  I.  The  modes  of  decoration  hitherto  considered,  have  been 
common  to  the  exteriors  and  interiors  of  all  noble  buildings ; 
and  we  have  taken  no  notice  of  the  various  kinds  of  ornament 
which  require  protection  from  weather,  and  are  necessarily 
confined  to  interior  work.  But  in  the  case  of  the  roof,  the 
exterior  and  interior  treatments  become,  as  we  saw  in  con¬ 
struction,  so  also  in  decoration,  separated  by  broad  and  bold 
distinctions.  One  side  of  a  wall  is,  in  most  cases,  the  same  as 
another,  and  if  its  structure  be  concealed,  it  is  mostly  on  the 
inside  ;  but,  in  the  roof,  the  anatomical  structure,  out  of  which 
decoration  should  naturally  spring,  is  visible,  if  at  all,  in  the 
interior  only  :  so  that  the  subject  of  internal  oi-nament  becomes 
both  wide  and  important,  and  that  of  external,  comparatively 
subordinate, 

§  II.  Xow,  so  long  as  we  were  concerned  principally  with 
the  outside  of  buildings,  we  might  with  safety  leave  expres- 
sional  character  out  of  the.,question  for  the  time,  because  it  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  all  persons  who  pass  the  building,  or 
see  it  from  a  distance,  shall  be  in  the  temper  which  the  build¬ 
ing  is  properly  intended  to  induce ;  so  that  ornaments  some¬ 
what  at  variance  with  this  temper  may  often  be  employed 
externally  without  painful  effect.  But  these  ornaments  would 
be  inadmissible  in  the  interior,  for  those  who  enter  will  for  the 
most  part  either  be  in  the  proper  temper  which  the  building 
requires,  or  desirous  of  acquiring  it.  (The  distinction  is  not 
rigidly  observed  by  the  mediaeval  builders,  and  grotesques,  or 
profane  subjects,  occur  in  the  interior  of  churches,  in  bosses, 
crockets,  capitals,  brackets,  and  such  other  portions  of  minor 


344 


XXIX.  THE  KOOF. 


DECORATIOIT. 


ornament :  but  we  do  not  find  the  interior  wall  covered  with 
hunting  and  battle  pieces,  as  often  the  Lombardic  exteriors.) 
And  thus  the  interior  expression  of  the  roof  or  ceiling  becomes 
necessarily  so  various,  and  the  kind  and  degree  of  fitting  deco¬ 
ration  so  dependent  upon  particular  circumstances,  that  it  is 
nearly  impossible  to  classify  its  methods,  or  limit  its  application. 

§  III.  I  have  little,  therefore,  to  say  here,  and  that  touching 
rather  the  omission  than  the  selection  of  decoration,  as  far  as 
regards  interior  roofing.  Wliether  of  timber  or  stone,  roofs 
are  necessarily  divided  into  surfaces,  and  ribs  or  beams ; — sur¬ 
faces,  flat  or  carved  ;  ribs,  traversing  these  in  the  directions 
where  main  strength  is  required ;  or  beams,  filling  the  hollow 
of  the  dark  gable  with  the  intricate  roof-tree,  or  supporting 
the  flat  ceiling.  Wherever  the  ribs  and  beams  are  simply  and 
nnafiectedly  arranged,  there  is  no  difficulty  about  decoration ; 
the  beams  may  be  carved,  the  ribs  moulded,  and  the  eye  is 
satisfied  at  once ;  but  when  the  vaulting  is  unribbed,  as  in 
]»lain  waggon  vaults  and  much  excellent  early  Gothic,  or  when 
the  ceiling  is  flat,  it  becomes  a  difficult  question  how  far  their 
services  may  receive  ornamentation  independent  of  their  struc¬ 
ture.  I  have  never  myself  seen  a  flat  ceiling  satisfactorily 
decorated,  except  by  painting :  there  is  much  good  and  fanci¬ 
ful  panelling  in  old  English  domestic  architecture,  but  it 
always  is  in  some  degree  meaningless  and  mean.  The  flat  ceil¬ 
ings  of  Yenice,  as  in  the  Scuola  di  San  Tiocco  and  Ducal 
Palace,  have  in  their  vast  panellings  some  of  the  noblest  paint¬ 
ings  (on  stretched  canvas)  which  the  world  possesses:  and 
this  is  all  very  well  for  the  ceiling;  but  one  would  rather  have 
the  painting  in  a  better  place,  especially  when  the  rain  soafi’s 
through  its  canvas,  as  I  have  seen  it  doing  through  many  a 
noble  Tintoret.  On  the  whole,  fiat  ceilings  are  as  much  to  be 
avoided  as  possible ;  and,  when  necessary,  perhaps  a  panelled 
ornamentation  with  rich  colored  patterns  is  the  most  satisfying, 
and  loses  least  ‘  of  valuable  labor.  But  I  leave  the  question 
to  the  reader’s  thought,  being  myself  exceedingly  undecided 
respecting  it :  except  only  touching  one  point — that  a  blank 
ceiling  is  not  to  be  redeemed^  by  a  decorated  ventilator. 


DECORATION. 


XXIX.  THE  EOOF. 


345 


§  IV.  I  have  a  more  confirmed  opinion,  however,  respecting 
the  decoration  of  curved  surfaces.  The  majesty  of  a  roof  is 
never,  I  think,  so  great,  as  when  the  eye  can  pass  undisturbed 
over  the  course  of  all  its  curvatures,  and  trace  the  dying  of  the 
shadows  along  its  smooth  and  sweeping  vaults.  And  I  would 
rather,  myself,  have  a  plain  ridged  Gothic  vault,  with  all  its 
rough  stones  visible,  to  keep  the  sleet  and  wind  out  of  a  cathe¬ 
dral  aisle,  than  all  the  fanning  and  pendanting  and  foliation 
that  ever  bewildered  Tudor  weight.  But  mosaic  or  fresco 
may  of  course  be  used  as  far  as  we  can  afford  or  obtain  them  ; 
for  these  do  not  break  the  curvature.  Perhaps  the  most 
solemn  roofs  in  the  world  are  the  apse  conchas  of  the  Bomaii- 
escpie  basilicas,  with  their  golden  ground  and  severe  figures. 
Exactly  opposed  to  these  are  the  decorations  which  disturb  the 
serenity  of  the  curve  without  giving  it  interest,  like  the  vulgar 
panelling  of  St.  Peter’s  and  the  Pantheon ;  both,  I  think,  in 
the  last  degree  detestable. 

§  V.  As  roofs  internally  may  be  divided  into  surfaces  and 
ribs,  externally  they  may  be  divided  into  surfaces,  and  points, 
or  ridges  ;  these  latter  often  receiving  very  bold  and  distinc¬ 
tive  ornament.  The  outside  surface  is  of  small  importance  in 
central  Europe,  being  almost  universally  low  in  slope,  and 
tiled  throughout  Spain,  South  France,  and  ISTorth  Italy:  of 
still  less  importance  where  it  is  flat,  as  a  terrace ;  as  often  in 
South  Italy  and  the  East,  mingled  with  low  domes :  but  the 
larger  Eastern  and  x\rabian  domes  become  elaborate  in  orna- 
mentation  :  I  cannot  speak  of  them  with  confidence ;  to  the 
mind  of  an  inhabitant  of  the  north,  a  roof  is  a  guard  against 
wild  weather ;  not  a  surface  which  is  forever  to  bask  in 
serene  heat,  and  gleam  across  deserts  like  a  rising  moon.  I 
can  only  say,  that  I  have  never  seen  any  drawing  of  a  richly 
decorated  Eastern  dome  that  made  me  desire  to  seethe  original. 

§  VI.  Our  own  northern  roof  decoration  is  necessarily  sim¬ 
ple.  Colored  tiles  are  used  in  some  cases  with  quaint  effect ; 
but  I  believe  the  dignity  of  the  building  is  always  greater 
when  the  roof  is  kept  in  an  undisturbed  mass,  opposing  itself 
to  the  variegation  and  richness  of  the  walls.  The  Italian 


346 


XXIX.  THE  EOOF. 


DECOP  \TION. 


round  tile  is  itself  decoration  enougii,  a  deep  and  ricli  fluting, 
which  all  artists  delight  in ;  this,  however,  is  fitted  exclusively 
for  low  pitch  of  roofs.  On  steep  domestic  roofs,  there  is  no 
ornament  better  than  may  be  obtained  by  merely  rounding, 
or  cutting  to  an  angle,  the  lower  extremities  of  the  flat  tiles 
or  shingles,  as  in  Switzerland :  thus  the  whole  surface  is 
covered  with  an  appearance  of  scales,  a  fish-like  defence 
against  water,  at  once  perfectly  simple,  natural,  and  effective 
at  any  distance ;  and  the  best  decoration  of  sloping  stone 
roofs,  as  of  spires,  is  a  mere  copy  of  this  scale  armor;  it 
enriches  every  one  of  the  spires  and  pinnacles  of  the  cathedral 
of  Coutances,  and  of  many  Norman  and  early  Gothic  build¬ 
ings.  Roofs  covered  or  edged  with  lead  have  often  patterns 
designed  upon  the  lead,  gilded  and  relieved  with  some  dark 
color,  as  on  the  house  of  Jaques  CoGur  at  Bourges ;  and  I 
imagine  the  effect  of  this  must  have  been  singularly  delicate 
and  beautiful,  but  only  traces  of  it  now  remain.  The  north¬ 
ern  roofs,  however,  generally  stand  in  little  need  of  surface 
decoration,  the  eye  being  drawn  to  flie  fantastic  ranges  of 
their  dormer  Avindows,  and  to  the  fiiiials  and  fringes  on  their 
points  and  ridges. 

§  VII.  Whether  dormer  windows  are  legitimately  to  be 
classed  as  decorative  features,  seems  to  me  to  admit  of  doubt. 
The  northern  spire  system  is  evidently  a  mere  elevation  and 
exaggeration  of  the  domestic  turret  with  its  look-out  windows, 
and  one  can  hardly  part  AA’ith  the  grotesque  lines  of  the  projec¬ 
tions,  though  nobody  is  to  be  expected  to  live  in  the  spire  : 
but,  at  all  events,  such  windows  are  never  to  be  alloAved  in 
places  visibly  inaccessible,  or  on  less  than  a  natural  and  ser¬ 
viceable  scale. 

§  VIII.  Under  the  general  head  of  roof-ridge  and  point 
decoration,  we  may  include,  as  above  noted,  the  entire  race 
of  fringes,  flnials,  and  crockets.  As  there  is  no  nse  in  any  of 
these  things,  and  as  they  are  visible  additions  and  parasitical 
portions  of  the  structure,  more  caution  is  required  in  their  use 
than  in  any  other  features  of  ornament,  and  the  architect  and 
spectator  must  both  be  in  felicitous  humor  before  they  can  be 


DECORATION. 


XXIX.  THE  EOOF. 


347 


well  designed  or  tlioronglily  enjoyed.  They  are  generally  most 
admirable  where  the  grotesque  Northern  spirit  has  most 
power ;  and  I  think  there  is  almost  always  a  certain  spirit  of 
playfulness  in  them,  adverse  to  the  grandest  architectural 
effects,  or  at  least  to  be  kept  in  severe  subordination  to  the 
serener  character  of  the  prevalent  lines.  But  as  they  are  op¬ 
posed  to  the  seriousness  of  majesty  on  th-e  one  hand,  so  they 
are  to  the  weight  of  dulness  on  the  other ;  and  I  know  not  any 
features  which  make  the  contrast  between  continental  domestic 
architecture,  and  our  own,  more  humiliatingly  felt,  or  which  give 
so  sudden  a  feeling  of  new  life  and  delight,  when  we  pass  from 
the  streets  of  London  to  those  of  Abbeville  or  Bouen,  as  the 
quaint  points  and  pinnacles  of  the  roof  gables  and  turrets. 
The  commonest  and  heaviest  roof  may  be  redeemed  by  a  spike 
at  the  end  of  it,  if  it  is  set  on  with  any  spirit ;  but  the  foreign 
builders  have  (or  had,  at  least)  a  peculiar  feeling  in  this,  and 
gave  animation  to  the  whole  roof  by  the  fringe  of  its  back, 
and  the  sjiike  on  its  forehead,  so  that  all  goes  together,  like 
the  dorsal  fins  and  spines  of  a  fish  :  but  our  spikes  have  a  dull, 
screwed  on,  look ;  a  far-off  relationship  to  the  nuts  of  machin¬ 
ery  ;  and  our  roof  fringes  are  sure  to  look  like  fenders,  as  if 
they  were  meant  to  catch  ashes  out  of  the  London  smoke- 
clouds. 

§  IX.  Stone  finials  and  crockets  are,  I  think,  to  be  consid¬ 
ered  in  architecture,  what  points  and  flashes  of  light  are  in 
the  color  of  painting,  or  of  nature.  There  are  some  landscapes 
whose  best  character  is  sparkling,  and  there  is  a  possibility  of 
repose  in  the  midst  of  brilliancy,  or  embracing  it, — as  on  the 
fields  of  summer  sea,  or  summer  land : 

“  Calm,  and  deep  peace,  on  this  high  wold, 

And  on  the  dews  that  drench  the  furze, 

And  on  the  silvery  gossamers. 

That  iidnkle  into  green  and  gold.” 

And  there  are  colorists  who  can  keep  their  quiet  in  the  midst 
of  a  jewellery  of  light ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  better  to 
avoid  breaking  up  either  lines  or  masses  by  too  many  points. 


348 


XXIX.  THE  EOOE. 


DECORATION. 


and  to  make  the  few  points  used  exceedingly  precious.  So 
tlie  best  c.rockets  and  tinials  are  set,  like  stars,  along  the  lines, 
and  at  the  points,  which  they  adorn,  with  considerable  inter¬ 
vals  between  them,  and  exquisite  delicacy  and  fancy  of  sculp¬ 
ture  in  their  own  designs ;  if  very  small,  they  may  become 
more  frequent,  and  describe  lines  by  a  chain  of  points  ;  but 
their  whole  value  is  lost  if  they  are  gathered  into  bunches  or 
clustered  into  tassels  and  knots  ;  and  an  over-indulgence  in 
them  always  marks  lowness  of  school.  In  Venice,  the  addi¬ 
tion  of  the  finial  to  the  arch-head  is  the  first  sign  of  degrada¬ 
tion  ;  all  her  best  arcliitecture  is  entirely  without  either  crockets 
or  finials  ;  and  her  ecclesiastical  architecture  may  be  classed, 
with  fearless  accuracy,  as  better  or  worse,  in  proportion  to  the 
diminution  or  expansion  of  the  crocket.  The  absolutely  perfect 
use  of  the  crocket  is  found,  I  think,  in  the  tower  of  Giotto, 
and  in  some  other  buildings  of  the  Pisan  school.  In  the 
North  they  generally  err  on  one  side  or  other,  and  are  either 
florid  and  liuge,  or  mean  in  outline,  looking  as  if  they  had 
been  pinched  out  of  the  stone-work,  as ’throughout  the  entire 
cathedral  of  Amiens ;  and  are  besides  connected  with  the  gen¬ 
erally  spotty  system  which  has  been  spoken  of  under  the  head 
of  archivolt  decoration. 

§  X.  Employed,  however,  in  moderation,  they  are  among 
the  most  delightful  means  of  delicate  expression  ;  and  the 
architect  has  more  liberty  in  their  indimdual  treatment  than 
in  any  other  feature  of  the  building.  Separated  entirely  from 
the  structural  system,  they  are  subjected  to  no  shadow  of  any 
other  laws  than  those  of  grace  and  chastity ;  and  the  fancy 
may  range  without  rebuke,  for  materials  of  their  design, 
through  the  whole  field  of  the  visible  or  imaginable  creation. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE  VESTIBULE. 

§  I.  I  HAVE  hardly  kept  my  promise.  The  reader  has  deco¬ 
rated  but  little  for  himself  as  yet ;  but  I  have  not,  at  least, 
attempted  to  bias  his  judgment.  Of  the  simple  forms  of  deco¬ 
ration  which  have  been  set  before  him,  he  has  always  been 
left  free  to  choose ;  and  the  stated  restrictions  in  the  methods 
of  appljdng  them  have  been  only  those  which  followed  on  the 
necessities  of  construction  previously  determined.  These  hav¬ 
ing  been  now  defined,  I  do  indeed  leave  my  reader  free  to 
build  ;  and  with  what  a  freedom  !  All  the  lovely  forms  of  the 
universe  set  before  him,  whence  to  choose,  and  all  the  lovely 
lines  that  bound  their  substance  or  guide  their  motion ;  and 
of  all  these  lines, — and  there  are  myriads  of  myriads  in  every 
bank  of  grass  and  every  tuft  of  forest ;  and  groups  of  them 
divinely  harmonized,  in  the  bell  of  every  flower,  and  in  every 
several  member  of  bird  and  beast, — of  all  these  lines,  for  the 
principal  forms  of  the  most  important  members  of  architec¬ 
ture,  I  have  used  but  Three !  What,  therefore,  must  be  the 
infinity  of  the  treasure  in  them  all !  There  is  material  enough 
in  a  single  flower  for  the  ornament  of  a  score  of  cathedrals, 
but  suppose  we  were  satisfied  with  less  exhaustive  apjfliance, 
and  built  a  score  of  cathedrals,  each  to  illustrate  a  single 
flower  ?  that  would  be  better  than  trying  to  invent  new 
styles,  I  think.  There  is  quite  difference  of  style  enough,  be¬ 
tween  a  violet  and  a  harebell,  for  all  reasonable  purposes. 

§  II.  Perhaps,  however,  even  more  strange  than  the  strug¬ 
gle  of  our  architects  to  invent  new  styles,  is  the  way  they  com¬ 
monly  speak  of  this  treasure  of  natural  infinity.  Let  us  take 
our  patience  to  us  for  an  instant,  and  hear  one  of  them,  not 
among  the  least  intelligent : — 


350 


XXX.  THE  YESTIBULE. 


“It  is  not  true  that  all  natural  forms  are  beautifu’i.  "We  may  hardlv 
be  able  to  detect  this  in  Nature  herself;  but  when  the  forms  are  separated 
from  the  things,  and  exhibited  alone  (by  sculpture  or  carving),  we  then  see 
that  they  are  not  all  fitted  for  ornamental  purposes;  and  indeed  that  very 
few,  perhaps  none,  are  so  fitted  without  correction.  Yes,  I  say  correction, 
for  though  it  is  the  highest  aim  of  every  art  to  imitate  nature,  this  is  not  to 

be  done  by  imitating  any  natural  form,  but  by  criticising  and,  coTrecting  it, _ 

criticising  it  by  Nature’s  rules  gathered  from  all  her  works,  but  never  com¬ 
pletely  can  ied  out  by  her  in  any  one  work;  correcting  it,  by  rendering  it 
more  natural,  i.e,  more  conformable  to  the  general  tendency  of  Nature,  ac¬ 
cording  to  that  noble  maxim  recorded  of  Raffaelle,  ‘  that  the  artist’s  object 
was  to  make  things  not  as  Nature  makes  them,  but  as  she  W'Oxjld  make 
them;  as  she  ever  tries  to  make  them,  but  nev'er  succeeds,  though  her  aim 
may  be  deduced  from  a  comparison  of  her  efforts;  just  as  if  a  number  of 
archers  had  aimed  unsuccessfully  at  a  mark  upon  a  wall,  and  this  mark 
were  then  removed,  we  could  by  the  examination  of  their  arrow'  marks 
point  out  the  most  probable  position  of  the  spot  aimed  at,  with  a  certainty 
of  being  nearer  to  it  than  any  of  their  shots.  ”* 

§  III.  I  had  tlioiight  that,  by  tliis  time,  we  liad  done  with 
that  stale,  second-hand,  one-sided,  and  misunderstood  saying 
of  Itatfaelle  s ,  or  that  at  least,  in  these  days  of  purer  Christian 
light,  men  might  have  begun  to  get  some  insight  into  the 
meaning  of  it ;  Katfaelle  was  a  joainter  of  humanity,  and  as¬ 
suredly  there  is  something  the  matter  with  humanity,  a  few 
dovrehbe’s,  more  or  less,  wanting  in  it.  We  have  most  of  us 
heard  of  original  sin,  and  may  perhaps,  in  our  modest  moments, 
conjecture  that  we  are  not  quite  what  God,  or  nature,  would 
have  us  to  be.  Itaffaelle  had  something  to  mend  in  Humanity  ; 
I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  him  mending  a  daisy  ! — or  a 
pease-blossom,  or  a  moth,  or  a  mustard  seed,  or  any  other  of 
God’s  slightest  works.  If  he  had  accomplished  that,  one 

might  have  found  for  him  more  respectable  employment, _ 

to  set  the  stars  in  better  order,  perhaps  (they  seem  grievously 
scattered  as  tliey  are,  and  to  be  of  all  manner  of  shapes  and 
sizes, — except  the  ideal  shape,  and  the  proper  size)  ;  or  to  give 
us  a  corrected  view  of  the  ocean  |  that,  at  least,  seems  a  very 
irregular  and  improveable  thing ;  the  very  fishermen  do  not 
know,  this  day,  how  far  it  will  reach,  di’iven  up  before  the 


*  Garbctt  on  Design,  p.  74. 


XXX.  THE  VESTIBULE. 


351 


■vrest  wind : — perliaps  Some  One  else  does,  bnt  that  is  not  onr 
business.  Let  ns  go  down  and  stand  by  the  beach  of  it, — of 
the  great  irregular  sea,  and  count  whether  the  thunder  of  it  is 
not  out  of  time.  One, — two  : — here  comes  a  well-formed  wave 
at  last,  trembling  a  little  at  the  top,  but,  on  the  whole,  orderly. 
So,  crash  among  the  shingle,  and  up  as  far  as  this  grey  pebble;' 
now  stand  by  and  watch  !  Another  : — Ah,  careless  wave  !  why 
couldn’t  you  have  kejit  your  crest  on  ?  it  is  all  gone  away  into 
spray,  striking  uji  against  the  cliffs  there — I  thought  as  much 
— missed  the  mark  by  a  couple  of  feet !  Another : — How  now, 
impatient  one !  couldn’t  you  have  waited  till  your  friend’s  re¬ 
flux  was  done  with,  instead  of  rolling  yourself  up  with  it  in 
that  unseemly  manner  ?  You  go  for  nothing.  A  fourth,  and 
a  goodly  one  at  last.  Wlnit  think  we  of  yonder  slow  rise,  and 
crystalline  hollow,  without  a  flaw  ?  Steady,  good  Avave ;  not 
so  fast ;  not  so  fast ;  where  are  you  coming  to  ? — By  our  archi-  , 
tectural  word,  this  is  too  bad  ;  two  yards  over  the  mark,  and 
ever  so  much  of  you  in  our  face  besides  ;  aiid  a  wave  which  we 
had  some  hope  of,  behind  there,  broken  all  to  pieces  out  at  sea, 
and  laying  a  great  white  table-cloth  of  foam  all  the  way  to  the 
shore,  as  if  the  marine  gods  were  to  dine  off  it !  Alas,  for 
these  unhappy  arrow  shots  of  Hature  ;  she  will  never  hit  her 
mark  with  those  unruly  waves  of  hers,  nor  get  one  of  them 
into  the  ideal  shape,  if  we  wait  for  a  thousand  years.  Let  us 
send  for  a  Greek  architect  to  do  it  for  her.  He  comes — the 
great  Greek  architect,  with  measure  and  rule.  Will  he  not 
also  make  the  weight  for  the  winds  ?  and  weigh  out  the  waters 
by  measure  ?  and  make  a  decree  for  the  rain,  and  a  way  for  the 
lightning  of  the  thunder  ?  He  sets  himself  orderly  to  his  work, 
and  behold !  this  is  the  mark  of  nature,  and  this  is  the  thing 
into  which  the  great  Greek  architect  improves  the  sea — 


&a\arra,  SaXoiTTa :  Was  it  this,  then,  that  they  wept  to  see 
from  the  sacred  mountain — those  wearied  ones? 


352 


XXX.  THE  TESTIBULE. 


§  IV,  But  the  sea  was  meant  to  be  irregular!  Yes,  and 
were  not  also  the  leaves,  and  the  blades  of  grass ;  and,  in  a  sort, 
as  far  as  may  be  without  mark  of  sin,  even  the  countenance  of 
man  ?  Or  would  it  be  pleasanter  and  better  to  have  us  all 
alike,  and  numbered  on  our  foreheads,  that  we  might  be  known 
one  from  the  other  ? 

§  V,  Is  there,  then,  nothing  to  be  done  by  man’s  art  ?  Have 
we  only  to  copy,  and  again  copy,  for  ever,  the  imagery  of  the 
universe?  Hot  so.  We  have  work  to  do  upon  it;  there  is 
not  any  one  of  us  so  simple,  nor  so  feeble,  but  he  has  work  to 
do  upon  it.  But  the  work  is  not  to  im^^rove,  but  to  explain. 
This  infinite  universe  is  unfathomable,  inconceivable,  in  its 
whole ;  every  human  creature  must  slowly  spell  out,  and  long 
contemplate,  such  part  of  it  as  may  be  possible  for  him  to 
reach  ;  then  set  forth  what  he  has  learned  of  it  for  those  be¬ 
neath  him  ;  extilcating  it  from  infinity,  as  one  gathers  a  violet 
out  of  grass ;  one  does  not  improve  either  violet  or  grass  in 
gathering  it,  but  one  makes  the  flower  visible ;  and  then  the 
human  being  has  to  make  its  power  uj)on  his  own  heart  visible 
also,  and  to  give  it  the  honor  of  the  good  thoughts  it  has  raised 
up  in  him,  and  to  write  upon  it  the  history  of  his  own  soul. 
And  sometimes  he  may  be  able  to  do  more  than  this,  and  to 
set  it  in  strange  lights,  and  display  it  in  a  thousand  ways  before 
unknown :  ways  specially  directed  to  necessary  and  noble  pur- 
jioses,  for  which  he  had  to  choose  instruments  out  of  the  wide 
armory  of  God.  All  this  he  may  do  :  and  in  this  he  is  only 
doing  what  every  Christian  has  to  do  with  the  written,  as  well 
as  the  created  word,  “  rightly  dividing  the  word  of  truth.” 
Out  of  the  infinity  of  the  written  woi-d,  he  has  also  to  gather 
and  set  forth  things  new  and  old,  to  choose  them  for  the  season 
and  the  work  that  are  before  him,  to  explain  and  manifest  them 
to  others,  with  such  illustration  and  enforcement  as  may  be  in 
his  power,  and  to  crown  them  with  the  history  of  wdiat,  bv 
them,  God  has  done  for  his  soul.  And,  in  doing  this,  is  he 
improving  the  Word  of  God?  Just  such  difference  as  there  is 
between  the  sense  in  wliicli  a  minister  may  be  said  to  improve 
a  text,  to  the  people’s  comfort,  and  the  sense  in  which  an 


XXX,  THE  VESTIBULE. 


353 


atheist  might  declare  that  he  could  improve  the  Book,  which, 
if  any  man  shall  add  unto,  there  shall  he  added  unto  him  tho 
plagues  that  are  written  therein ;  just  such  ditference  is  there 
between  that  which,  with  respect  to  Nature,  man  is,  in  his 
humbleness,  called  upon  to  do,  and  that  which,  in  his  insolence, 
he  imagines  himself  capable  of  doing, 

§  VI.  Have  no  fear,  therefore,  reader,  in  judging  betweer 
nature  and  art,  so  only  that  you  love  both.  If  you  can  love 
one  only,  then  let  it  be  Nature ;  you  are  safe  with  her :  but  do 
not  then  attempt  to  judge  the  art,  to  which  you  do  not  care  to 
give  thouglit,  or  time.  But  if  you  love  both,  you  may  judge 
between  them  fearlessly ;  you  may  estimate  the  last,  by  its 
making  you  remember  the  tirst,  and  giving  you  the  same  kind 
of  joy.  If,  in  tlie  square  of  the  city,  you  can  find  a  delight, 
finite,  indeed,  but  pure  and  intense,  like  that  which  you  have 
in  a  valley  among  the  hills,  then  its  art  and  architecture  are 
right ;  but  if,  after  fair  trial,  you  can  find  no  delight  in  them, 
nor  any  instruction  like  that  of  nature,  I  call  on  you  fearlessly 
to  condemn  them. 

We  are  forced,  for  the  sake  of  accumulating  our  power  and 
knowledge,  to  live  in  cities ;  but  such  advantage  as  we  have 
in  association  with  each  other  is  in  great  part  counterbalanced 
by  our  loss  of  fellowship  with  nature.  We  cannot  all  have 
our  gardens  now,  nor  our  pleasant  fields  to  meditate  in  at 
eventide.  Then  the  function  of  our  architecture  is,  as  far  as 
may  be,  to  replace  these  ;  to  tell  us  about  nature ;  to  possess  us 
with  memories  of  her  quietness  ;  to  be  solemn  and  full  of  ten¬ 
derness,  like  her,  and  rich  in  portrajtures  of  her;  full  of  deli¬ 
cate  imagery  of  the  dowel’s  we  can  no  more  gather,  and  of  the 
living  creatures  now  far  away  from  us  in  their  own  solitude. 
If  ever  you  felt  or  found  this  in  a  London  Street, — if  ever  it 
furnished  you  with  one  serious  thought,  or  one  ray  of  true  and 
gentle  pleasure, — if  there  is  in  your  heart  a  true  delight  in  its 
grim  railings  and  dark  casements,  and  wasteful  finery  of  shops, 
and  feeble  coxcombry  of  club-houses, — it  is  well :  jiromote  the 
building  of  more  like  them.  But  if  they  never  taught  you 
anything,  and  never  made  you  happier  as  you  passed  beneath 


854 


XXX.  THE  VESTIBULE. 


them,  do  not  think  they  have  any  mysterious  goodness  nor 
occult  sublimity.  Have  done  with  the  wretched  affectation, 
the  futile  barbarism,  of  jiretending  to  enjoy  :  for,  as  surely  as 
you  know  that  the  meadow  grass,  meshed  with  fairy  rings,  is 
better  than  the  wood  pavement,  cut  into  hexagons;  and  as 
surely  as  you  know  the  fresh  winds  and  sunshine  of  the  upland 
are  better  than  the  choke-damp  of  the  vault,  or  the  gas-light  of 
the  ball-room,  you  may  know,  as  I  told  you  that  you  sliould, 
that  the  good  architecture,  which  has  life,  and  truth,  and  joy 
in  it,  is  better  than  the  bad  architecture,  which  has  death,  dis- 
lionesty,  and  vexation  of  heart  in  it,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end  of  time. 

§  VII.  And  now  come  with  me,  for  I  have  kept  you  too 
long  from  your  gondola*,  come  with  me,  on  an  autumnal 
morning,  through  the  dark  gates  of  Padua,  and  let  us  take  the 
broad  road  leading  towards  the  East. 

It  lies  level,  for  a  league  or  two,  between  its  elms,  and  vine 
festoons  full  laden,  their  thin  leaves  veined  into  scarlet  hectic, 
and  their  clusters  deepened  into  gloomy  blue  ;  then  mounts  an 
embankment  above  the  Brenta,  and  runs  between  the  river 
and  the  broad  plain,  which  stretches  to  the  north  in  endless 
lines  of  mulberry  and  maize.  The  Brenta  flows  slowly,  but 
strongly ;  a  muddy  volume  of  yellowish-grey  water,  that 
neither  hastens  nor  slackens,  but  glides  heavily  between  its 
monotonous  banks,  with  here  and  there  a  short,  babbling  eddy 
twisted  for  an  instant  into  its  opaque  surface,  and  vanishing, 
as  if  something  had  been  dragged  into  it  and  gone  down. 
Dusty  and  shadeless,  tliQ  road  fares  along  the  dyke  on  its 
northern  side  ;  and  the  tall  white  tower  of  Dolo  is  seen  trem¬ 
bling  in  the  heat  mist  far  away,  and  never  seems  nearer  than 
it  did  at  first.  Presently  you  pass  one  of  the  much  vaunted 
“villas  on  the  Brenta  a  glaring,  spectral  shell  of  brick  and 
stucco,  its  windows  with  painted  architraves  like  picture- 
frames,  and  a  court-yard  paved  with  pebbles  in  front  of  it,  all 
burning  in  the  thick  glow  of  the  feverish  sunshine,  but  fenced 
from  the  high  road,  for  magnificence  sake,  with  goodly  posts 
and  chains ;  then  another,  of  Kew  Gothic,  with  Chinese  varia- 


XXX.  THE  VESTIBULE. 


355 


tions,  painted  red  and  green  |  a  tliird  composed  for  the  greater 
part  of  dead-wall,  with  fictitious  windows  painted  upon  it, 
each  with  a  pea-green  blind,  and  a  classical  architrave  in  bad 
perspective ;  and  a  fourth,  with  stucco  figures  set  on  the  top 
of  its  garden-wall :  some  antique,  like  the  kind  to  be  seen  at 
the  corner  of  the  Xew  Road,  and  some  of  clumsy  grotesque) 
dwarfs,  wfitli  fat  bodies  and  large  boots.  This  is  the  architec¬ 
ture  to  which  her  studies  of  the  Renaissance  have  conducted 
modern  Italy. 

§  VIII.  The  sun  climbs  steadily,  and  warms  into  intense 
white  the  walls  of  the  little  piazza  of  Rolo,  where  we  change 
horses.  Another  dreary  stage  among  the  now  divided 
branches  of  the  Brenta,  forming  irregular  and  half-stagnant 
canals  ;  with  one  or  two  more  villas  on  the  other  side  of  them, 
but  these  of  the  old  Venetian  type,  which  we  may  have 
recognised  before  at  Padua,  and  sinking  fast  into  utter  ruin, 
black,  and  rent,  and  lonely,  set  close  to  the  edge  of  tlue  dull 
water,  with  what  were  once  small  gardens  beside  them,  kneaded 
into  mud,  and  with  blighted  f]-agments  of  gnarled  hedges  and 
broken  stakes  for  their  fencing ;  and  here  and  there  a  few 
fragments  of  marble  stejis,  which  have  once  given  them 
graceful  access  fi’om  the  water’s  edge,  now  settling  into  the 
mud  in  broken  joints,  all  aslope,  and  slippery  with  green  weed. 
At  last  the  road  turns  sharply  to  the  north,  and  there  is  an 
open  space,  covered  with  bent  grass,  on  the  right  of  it :  but  do 
not  look  that  way. 

§  IX.  Five  minutes  more,  and  we  are  in  the  upper  room  of 
the  little  inn  at  Mestre,  glad  of  a  moment’s  rest  in  shade. 
The  table  is  (always,  I  think)  covered  with  a  cloth  of  nominal 
white  and  perennial  grey,  with  plates  and  glasses  at  due  intei- 
vals,  and  small  loaves  of  a  peculiar  white  bread,  made  with  oil, 
and  more  like  knots  of  flour  than  bread.  The  view  from  its 
balcony  is  not  cheerful :  a  mirrow  street,  with  a  solitary  brick 
church  and  barren  campanile  on  the  other  side  of  it ;  and  some 
coventual  buildings,  with  a  few  crimson  remnants  of  fresco 
about  their  windows ;  and,  between  them  and  the  street,  a 
ditch  with  some  slow  cun*ent  in  it,  and  one  or  two  small  houses 


356 


•XXX.  THE  TESTIBULE, 


beside  it,  one  with  an  arbor  of  roses  at  its  door,  as  in  an  Eng¬ 
lish  tea-garden  ;  the  air,  liowever,  aljont  ns  having  in  it  noth¬ 
ing  of  roses,  bnt  a  close  smell  of  garlic  and  crabs,  warmed  by 
the  smoke  of  various  stands  of  hot  chestnuts.  There  is  much 
vociferation  also  going  on  beneath  the  window  respecting  cer¬ 
tain  wheelbarrows  which  are  in  rivalry  for  our  baggage :  we 
'appease  their  rivalry  with  our  best  patience,  and  follow  them 
down  the  narrow  street. 

§  X.  We  have  but  walked  some  two  hundred  yards  when 
we  come  to  a  low  wharf  or  qnay,  at  the  extremity  of  a  canal, 
with  long  steps  on  each  side  down  to  the  water,  which  latter 
we  fancy  for  an  instaiit  has  become  black  with  stagnation  ; 
another  glance  undeceives  us, — it  is  covered  with  the  black 
boats  of  Yenice.  We  enter  one  of  them,  rather  to  try  if  they 
be  real  boats  or  not,  than  with  any  definite  purpose,  and  glide 
away  ;  at  first  feeling  as  if  the  water  were  yielding  continually 
benea^th  the  boat  and  letting  her  sink  into  soft  vacancy.  It  is 
something  clearer  than  any  water  we  have  seen  lately,  and  of 
a  pale  green ;  the  banks  only  two  or  three  feet  above  it,  of 
mud  and  rank  grass,  with  here  and  there  a  stunted  tree  ;  glid¬ 
ing  swiftly  past  the  small  easement  of  the  gondola,  as  if  they 
were  dragged  by  upon  a  painted  scene. 

Stroke  by  stroke  we  count  the  plunges  of  the  oar,  each 
heaving  up  the  side  of  the  boat  slightly  as  her  silver  beak 
shoots  forward.  We  lose  patience,  and  extricate  ourselves 
from  the  cushions :  the  sea  air  blows  keenly  by,  as  we  stand 
leaning  on  the  I’oof  of  the  floating  cell.  In  front,  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  long  canal  and  level  bank  ;  to  the  w^est,  the  tower 
of  Mestre  is  lowering  fast,  and  behind  it  there  have  risen  pur¬ 
ple  shapes,  of  the  color  of  dead  rose-leaves,  all  round  the  hori¬ 
zon,  feebly  deflned  against  the  afternoon  sky, — the  Alps  of 
Bassano.  Forward  still  :  the  endless  canal  bends  at  last,  and 
then  breaks  into  intricate  angles  about  some  low  bastions,  now 
torn  to  pieces  and  staggering  in  ugly  rents  towards  the  water, 
— the  bastions  of  the  fort  of  Malghera.  Another  turn,  and 
another  perspective  of  canal ;  but  not  interminable.  The 
silver  beak  cleaves  it  fast, — it  widens :  the  rank  grass  of  the 


XXX.  THE  VESTIBULE. 


357 


banks  sinks  lower,  and  lower,  and  at  last  dies  in  tawny  knots 
along  an  expanse  of  weedy  shore.  Over  it,  on  the  right,  hnt 
a  few  years  back,  we  might  have  seen  the  lagoon  stretching  to 
the  horizon,  and  the  warm  southern  sky  bending  over  Mala- 
mocco  to  the  sea.  Xow  we  can  see  nothing  but  what  seems  a 
low  and  monotonous  dock-yard  wall,  with  flat  arches  to  let  the 
tide  through  it ; — this  is  the  railroad  bridge,  conspicuous 
above  all  things.  But  at  the  end  of  those  dismal  arches,  there 
rises,  out  of  the  wide  water,  a  straggling  line  of  low  and  con¬ 
fused  brick  buildings,  vdiich,  but  for  the  many  towers  which 
are  mingled  among  them,  might  bo  the  suburbs  of  an  English 
manufacturing  town.  Four  or  five  domes,  pale,  and  appar¬ 
ently  at  a  greater  distance,  rise  over  the  centre  of  the  line  ; 
but  the  object  which  first  catches  the  eye  is  a  sullen  cloud  of 
black  smoke  brooding  over  the  northern  half  of  it,  and  which 
issues  from  the  belfry  of  a  church. 

It  is  Venice. 


J 

i 

I 


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.  J 

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,  * 

■  i-. 


APPEI^DIX. 


X.  tOUNDATIOlSr  OF  VENICE. 

I  FIND  the  chit-onit-lers  agree  in  fixing  the  year  421,  if  any: 
the  following  rfenteuee  from  De  Monaci  may  perhaps  interest  the 
reader. 

“  God,  who  punishes  the  sins  of  men  by  war  sorrows,  and 
whose  ways  are  past  finding  out,  willing  both  to  save  the  innocent 
blood,  and  that  a  great  power,  beneficial  to  the  whole  world, 
should  arise  in  a  spot  sLrange  beyond  belief,  moved  the  chief 
men  of  the  cities  of  the  Venetian  province  (which  from  the 
border  of  Pannonia,  extended  as  far  as  the  Adda,  a  river  of  Lom¬ 
bardy),  both  in  memory  of  past,  and  in  dread  of  future  distress, 
to  establish  states  upon  the  nearer  islands  of  the  inner  gulphs  of 
the  Adriatic,  to  which,  in  the  last  necessity,  they  might  retreat 
for  refuge.  And  first  Galienus  de  Fontana,  Simon  de  Glauco- 
nibus,  and  Antonins  Calvus,  or,  as  others  have  it,  Adalburtus 
Falerius,  Thomas  Candiano,  Comes  Daulus,  Consuls  of  Padua, 
by  the  command  of  their  King  and  the  desire  of  the  citizens, 
laid  the  foundations  of  the  new  commonwealth,  under  good 
auspices,  on  the  island  of  the  Rialto,  the  highest  and  nearest  to 
the  mouth  of  the  deep  river  now  called  the  Brenta,  in  the  year 
of  Our  Lord,  as  many  writers  assure  us,  four  hundred  and  twenty- 
one,  on  the  25th  day  of  March.  ”  * 

It  is  matter  also  of  very  great  satisfaction  to  know  that  Venice 
was  founded  by  good  Christians:  “La  qual  citade  e  stada  hedifi- 
cada  da  veri  e  boni  Christiani :  ”  which  information  I  found  in 


*Ed.  Venetis,  1758,  Lib.  I. 


3G0 


APPENDIX,  3,  3. 


tliG  MS.  copy  of  tlie  Zancarol  Chronicle,  in  the  library  of  St. 
Mark’s. 

Finally  the  conjecture  as  to  the  origin  of  her  name,  recorded 
by  Sansovino,  will  be  accepted  willingly  by  all  who  love  Venice: 
‘‘Fu  interpretato  da  alcuni,  che  questa  voce  Venetia  voglia  dire 
^  ENI  Ell  AM,  cioe,  vieni  ancora,  e  ancora,  percioche  quante 
volte  verrai,  sempre  vedrai  nuove  cose,  enuove  bellezze.” 


2.  POWER  OF  THE  DOGES. 

The  best  authorities  agree  in  giving  the  year  697  as  that  of 
the  election  of  the  first  doge,  Paul  Luke  Anafeste.  He  was 
elected  in  a  general  meeting  of  the  commonalty,  tribunes,  and 
clergy,  at  Ileraclea,  ‘‘divinis  rebus  procuratis,”  as  usual,  in  all 
serious  work,  in  those  times.  His  authority  is  thus  defined  by 
Sabellico,  who  was  not  likely  to  have  exaggerated  it: — “Penes 
quern  decus  omne  imperii  ac  majestas  esset:  cui  jus  concilium 
cogendi  quoties  de  republica  aliquid  referri  oporteret;  qui  tri- 
bunos  annuos  in  singulas  insulas  legeret,  a  quibus  ad  Ducem 
esset  provocatio.  C*terum,  si  quis  dignitatem,  ecclesiam,  sacer- 
dotumve  cleri  populique  sulfragio  esset  adeptus,  ita  demum  id 
ratum  haberetur  si  dux  ipse  auctor  factus  esset.”  (Lib.  I.)  The 
last  clause  is  very  important,  indicating  the  subjection  of  the 
ecclesiastical  to  the  popular  and  ducal  (or  patrician)  powers, 
w'hich,  throughout  her  career,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
features  in  the  policy  of  Venice.  The  appeal  from  the  tribunes 
to  the  doge  is  also  important;  and  the  expression  “decus  omne 
imperii,”  if  of  somewhat  doubtful  force,  is  at  least  as  energetic 
as  could  have  been  expected  from  an  historian  under  the  influence 
of  the  Council  of  Ten. 


3.  SERRAR  DEL  CONSIGLTO. 

The  date  of  the  decree  which  made  the  right  of  sitting  in  the 
grand  council  hereditary,  is  variously  given ;  the  V’’enetian  histo¬ 
rians  themselves  saying  as  little  as  they  can  about  it.  The  thing 
was  evidently  not  accomplished  at  once,  several  decrees  following 
in  successive  years:  the  Council  of  Ten  was  established  without 
any  doubt  in  1310,  in  consequence  of  the  •conspiracy  of  Tiejiolo. 


APPENDIX,  4. 


361 


The  Venetian  verse,  quoted  by  Mutinelli  (Annali  Urban/  di 
Venezia,  p.  153),  is  worth  remembering. 

“Del  mille  tresento  e  diese 
A  mezzo  el  mese  delle  ceriese 
Bagiamonte  passo  el  ponte 
E  per  esso  fo  fatto  el  Consegio  di  diese.” 

The  reader  cannot  do  better  than  take  1297  as  the  date  of  the 
beginning  of  the  change  of  government,  and  this  will  enable  him 
exactly  to  divide  the  1100  years  from  the  election  of  the  first  doge 
into  600  of  monarchy  and  500  of  aristocracy.  The  coincidence 
of  the  numbers  is  somewhat  curious;  697  the  date  of  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  the  government,  1297  of  its  change,  and  1797  of  its  fall. 


4.  S.  PIETRO  DI  GASTELLO. 

It  is  credibly  reported  to  have  been  founded  in  the  seventh 
century,  and  (with  someAvhat  less  of  credibility)  in  a  place  where 
the  Trojans,  conducted  by  Antenor,  had,  after  the  destruction 
of  Troy,  built  ‘‘  un  castello,  chiamato  prima  Troja,  poscia  Olivolo, 
iuterpretato,  luogo  pieno.”  It  seems  that  St.  Peter  appeared  in 
person  to  the  Bishop  of  Ileraclea,  and  commanded  him  to  found 
in  his  honor,  a  church  in  that  sj^ot  of  the  rising  city  on  the 
Rialto:  “ove  avesse  veduto  una  mandra  di  buoi  e  di  pecore  pas- 
colare  unitamente.  Questa  fu  la  prodigiosa  origine  della  Chiesa 
di  San  Pietro,  che  poscia,  o  rinovata,  o  ristaurata,  da  Orso  Par- 
ticipazio  IV  Vescovo  Olivolense,  divenne  la  Cattedrale  della 
Nuova  citta.’’  (Notizie  Storiche  delle  Chiese  e  Monasteri  di 
Venezia.  Padua,  1758.)  What  there  was  so  prodigious  in  oxen 
and  sheep  feeding  together,  Ave  need  St.  Peter,  I  think,  to  tell 
us.  The  title  of  Bishop  of  Castello  Avas  first  taken  in  1091:  St. 
Mark’s  Avas  not  made  the  cathedral  church  till  1807.  It  may  be 
thought  hardly  fair  to  conclude  the  small  importance  of  the  old 
St.  Pietro  di  Castello  from  the  appearance  of  the  wretched 
modernisations  of  1620.  But  these  modernisations  are  spoken 
of  as  improvements;  and  I  find  no  notice  of  peculiar  beauties  in 
the  older  building,  either  in  the  Avork  above  quoted,  or  by  Sanso¬ 
vino;  who  only  says  that  when  it  was  destroyed  by  fire  (as  every¬ 
thing  in  Venice  Avas,  I  think,  about  three  times  in  a  century),  in 


362 


APPEIfDIX,  5. 

the  rei^  of  Vital  Michele,  it  was  rebuilt  '^with  good  thick  walls, 
maintaining,  for  all  that,  the  order  of  its  arrangement  taken 
from  the  Greek  mode  of  building.”  This  does  not  seem  the 
description  of  a  very  enthusiastic  etfort  to  rebuild  a  highly  ornate 
cathedral.  The  present  church  is  among  the  least  interesting  in 
Venice;  a  wooden  bridge,  something  like  that  of  Battersea  on  a 
small  scale,  connects  its  island,  now  almost  deserted,  with  a 
wretched  suburb  of  the  city  behind  the  arsenal;  and  a  blank  level 
of  lifeless  grass,  rotted  away  in  places  rather  than  trodden,  is  ex¬ 
tended  before  its  mildewed  facade  and  solitaiy  tower. 

5.  PAPAL  POWER  IX  VEXICE. 

I  may  refer  the  reader  to  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  twenty- 
eighth  book  of  Darn  for  some  account  of  the  restraints  to  which 
the  Venetian  clergy  were  subjected.  I  have  not  myself  been  able 
to  devote  any  time  to  the  examination  of  the  original  documents 
bearing  on  this  matter,  but  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
of  a  friend,  who  will  not  at  jDresent  permit  me  to  give  his  name, 
but  who  is  certainly  better  conversant  with  the  records  of  the 
Venetian  State  than  any  other  Englishman,  will  be  of  great  value 
to  the  general  reader: — 

“In  the  year  1410,  or  perhaps  at  the  close  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  churchmen  were  excluded  from  the  Grand  Council  and 
declared  ineligible  to  civil  employment;  and  in  the  same  year, 
1410,  the  Council  of  Ten,  with  the  Giunta,  decreed  that  when¬ 
ever  in  the  state’s  councils  matters  concerning  ecclesiastical 
affairs  were  being  treated,  all  the  kinsfolk  of  Venetian  beneficed 
clergymen  were  to  be  expelled;  and,  in  the  year  1434,  the  rela- 
Tioxs  of  churchmen  were  declared  ineligible  to  the  post  of  am¬ 
bassador  at  Eome. 

“The  Venetians  never  gave  possession  of  any  see  in  their 
territories  to  bishops  unless  they  had  been  proposed  to  the  jmpe 
by  the  senate,  which  elected  the  patriarch,  who  was  supjiosed,  at 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  to  be  liable  to  examination  by 
his  Holiness,  as  an  act  of  confirmation  of  installation;  but  of 
couise,  everything  depended  on  the  relative  power  at  any  giv'en 
time  of  Rome  and  Venice:  for  instance,  a  few  days  after  the 
accession  of  Julius  II.,  in  1503,  he  requests  the  Signory,  cap  in 


APPEifDix,  5,  3G3 

hand,  to  allow  him  to  confer  the  archbishopric  of  Zara  on  a 
dependant  of  his,  one  Cipico  the  Bishop  of  Pamagosta.  Six 
years  later,  when  Venice  was  overwhelmed  by  the  leaguers  of 
Cambrai,  that  furious  pope  would  assuredly  have  conferred  Zara 
on  Cipico  without  asking  leave.  In  1608,  the  rich  Camaldoiite 
Abbey  of  Yangadizza,  in  the  Polesine,  fell  vacant  through  the 
death  of  Lionardo  Loredano,  in  Avhose  family  it  had  been  since 
some  while.  The  Venetian  ambassador  at  Borne  received  the 
news  on  the  night  of  the  28th  December;  and,  on  the  morrow, 
requested  Paul  IV.  not  to  dispose  of  this  preferment  until  he 
heal  d  fi  om  the  senate.  The  pope  talked  of  ‘  poor  cardinals  ’ 
and  of  his  nephew,  but  made  no  positive  reply;  and,  as  Francesco 
Contarini  w'as  withdrawing,  said  to  him:  ‘My  Lord  ambassador, 
wdth  this  opportunity  we  will  inform  you  that,  to  our  very  great 
legiet,  we  understand  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Ten  mean  to  turn 
sacristans;  for  they  order  the  parish  priests  to  close  the  church 
doors  at  the  Ave  Maria,  and  not  to  ring  the  bells  at  certain  hours. 
This  is  precisely  the  sacristan’s  office;  we  don’t  know  why  their 
lordships,  by  printed  edicts,  which  we  have  seen,  choose  to  inter¬ 
fere  in  this  matter.  This  is  pure  and  mere  ecclesiastical  juris¬ 
diction;  and  even,  in  case  of  any  inconvenience  arising,  is  there 
not  the  patriarch,  who  is  at  any  rate  your  own;  why  not  apply 
to  him,  who  could  remedy  these  irregularities?  These  are  mat¬ 
ters  which  cause  us  very  notable  displeasure;  we  say  so  that  they 
may  be  written  and  known:  it  is  decided  by  the  councils  and 
canons,  and  not  uttered  by  us,  that  whosoever  forms  any  resolve 
against  the  ecclesiastical  liberty,  cannot  do  so  without  incurring 
censure:  and  in  order  that  Father  Paul  [Bacon’s  correspondent] 
may  not  say  hereafter,  as  he  did  in  his  past  writings,  that  our 
predecessors  assented  either  tacitly  or  by  permission,  we  declare 
that  we  do  not  give  our  assent,  nor  do  we  approve  it;  nay,  we 
blame  it,  and  let  this  be  announced  in  Venice,  so  that,  for  the 
rest,  every  one  may  take  care  of  his  own  conscience.  St.  Thomas 
a  Becket,  whose  festival  is  celebrated  this  very  day,  suffered 
martyrdom  for  the  ecclesiastical  liberty;  it  is  our  duty  likewise 
to  support  and  defend  it.’  Contarini  says:  ‘This  remonstrance 
was  delivered  with  some  marks  of  anger,  which  induced  m.e  to 
tell  him  how  the  tribunal  of  the  most  excellent  the  Lords  chiefs 
of  the  Ten  is  in  our  country  supreme;  that  it  does  not  do  its 


364 


appendix,  5. 


business  unadvisedly,  or  condescend  to  unworthy  matters;  and 
that,  therefore,  should  those  Lords  have  come  to  any  public 
declaration  of  their  will,  it  must  be  attributed  to  orders  anterior, 
and  to  immemorial  custom  and  authority,  recollecting  that,  on 
former  occasions  likewise,  similar  commissions  were  given  to 
prevent  divers  incongruities;  wherefore  an  upright  intention, 
such  as  this,  ought  not  to  be  taken  in  any  other  sense  than  its 
own,  especially  as  the  parishes  of  Venice  were  in  her  own  gift,’ 
&c.  &c.  The  pojie  persisted  in  bestowing  the  abbacy  on  his 
nephew,  but  the  republic  would  not  give  possession,  and  a  com¬ 
promise  was  effected  by  its  being  conferred  on  the  Venetian 
Matteo  Priuli,  who  allowed  the  cardinal  five  thousand  ducats  ner 
annum  out  of  its  revenues.  A  few  years  before  this,  this  very 
same  pope  excommunicated  the  State,  because  she  had  im¬ 
prisoned  two  churchmen  for  heinous  crimes;  the  strife  lasted  for 
more  than  a  year,  and  ended  through  the  mediation  of  Henry 
IV.,  at  whose  suit  the  prisoners  were  delivered  to  the  French 
ambassador,  who  made  them  over  to  a  papal  commissioner. 

In  January,  1484,  a  tournament  Avas  in  preparation  on  St. 
Mark’s  Square:  some  murmurs  had  been  heard  about  the  distri¬ 
bution  of  the  prizes  having  been  pre-arranged,  without  regard  to 
the  ^best  man.’  One  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Ten  was  walking  along 
Eialto  on  the  28th  January,  when  a  young  priest,  twenty-tAvo 
years  old,  a  SAvord-cutler’s  son,  and  a  Bolognese,  and  one  of 
Perugia,  both  men-at-arms  under  Robert  Sansoverino,  fell  upon 
a  clothier  with  draAvn  weapons.  The  chief  of  the  Ten  desired 
they  might  be  seized,  but  at  the  moment  the  priest  escaped;  he 
was,  hoAvever,  subsequently  retaken,  and  in  that  very  eA^ening 
hanged  by  torch-light  between  the  columns  AA'ith  the  two  soldiers. 
Innocent  VIII.  Avas  less  poAverful  than  Paul  IV. ;  Venice  Aveaker 
in  1605  than  in  1484. 

*  *  *  q^]j0  exclusion  from  the  Grand  Council,  Avhether  at 
the  end  of  the  fourteenth  or  commencement  of  the  folloAving 
century,  of  the  Venetian  ecclesiastics,  (as  induced  either  by  the 
republic  s  acquisitions  on  the  main  land  then  made,  and  which, 
through  the  rich  benefices  they  embraced,  might  have  rendered 
an  ambitious  churchman  as  dangerous  in  the  Grand  Council  as  a 
victorious  condottiere;  or  from  dread  of  their  allegiance  being 
divided  betAveen  the  church  and  their  countiy,  it  being  acknowl- 


APPENDIX,  5. 


365 


edged  that  no  man  can  serve  two  masters,)  did  not  render  them 
hostile  to  their  fatherland,  whose  interests  were,  with  very  few 
exceptions,  eagerly  fathered  by  the  Venetian  prelates  at  Rome, 
who,  in  their  turn,  received  all  honor  at  Venice,  where  state  re¬ 
ceptions  given  to  cardinals  of  the  houses  of  Correr,  Grimani, 
Cornaro,  Pisani,  Contarini,  Zeno,  Delfino,  and  others,  vouch  for 
the  good  understanding  that  existed  between  the  ‘  Papalists  ’  and 
their  countrymen.  The  Cardinal  Grimani  was  instrumental  in 
detaching  Julius  11.  from  the  league  of  Cambrai;  the  Cardinal 
Cornaro  always  aided  the  state  to  obtain  anything  required  of 
Leo  X.;  and,  both  before  and  after  their  times,  all  Venetians 
that  had  a  seat  in  the  Sacred  College  were  patriots  rather  than 
pluralists:  I  mean  that  they  cared  more  for  Venice  than  for  their 
benefices,  admitting  thus  the  soundness  of  that  policy  which  de¬ 
nied  them  admission  into  the  Grand  Council.” 

To  this  interesting  statement,  I  shall  add,  from  the  twentv- 
eighth  book  of  Darn,  two  passages,  well  deserving  consideration 
by  us  English  in  present  days: 

‘‘ Pour  etre  parfaitement  assuree  contre  les  envahissements 
de  la  puissance  ecclesiastique,  Venise  commenqa  par  lui  6ter 
tout  pretexte  d’intervenir  dans  les  affaires  de  PEtat;  elle  resta 
invariablement  fidele  an  dogme.  Jamais  aucune  des  opinions 
nouvelles  n’y  prit  la  moindre  faveur;  jamais  aucun  hercsiarque 
ne  sortit  de  Venise.  Les  conciles,  les  disputes,  les  guerres  de 
religion,  se  passdrent  sans  qu’elle  y  prit  jamais  la  moindre  part. 
In^branlable  dans  sa  foi,  elle  ne  fut  pas  moins  invariable  dans 
son  systeme  de  tolerance.  Non  sculement  ses  sujets  de  la  religion 
grecque  conserv^rent  I’exercise  de  leur  culte,  leurs  eviiques  et 
leurs  prfitres;  mais  les  Protestantes,  les  Armeniens,  les  Mahomi- 
tans,  les  J uif s,  toutes  les  religions,  toutes  les  sectes  qui  se  trou- 
vaient  dans  Venise,  avaient  des  temples,  et  la  sepulture  dans  les 
eglises  n’etait  point  refuse  aux  heretiques.  Une  police  vigilante 
s’appliquait  avec  le  meme  soin  a  eteindre  les  discordes,  et  a  em- 
p^cher  les  fanatiques  et  les  novateurs  de  troubler  I’Etat.” 

4:******* 

^‘Si  on  consid^rc  que  c’est  dans  un  temps  ou  jiresque  toutes 
les  nations  tremblaient  devant  la  puissance  pontificale,  que  les 
Venitiens  surent  tenir  leur  clerge  dans  la  dependance,  et  braver 
souvent  les  censures  ecclesiastiques  et  les  interdits,  sans  encourir 


3GG 


APPEISTDIX,  5. 


jamais  aiicun  reproche  sur  la  piirete  de  leur  foi,  on  sera  force  de 
leconnaitie  que  cette  republique  avait  devance  de  loin  les  antres 
penples  dans  cette  partie  de  la  science  du  gonvernement.  La 
fameuse  maxime,  ‘  Siamo  reneziani,  poi  christiani,’  n’etait  qu’une 
formnle  energique  qni  ne  prouvait  point  quils  vonlnssent  placer 
I’mter^t  de  la  religion  apres  celui  de  I’Etat,  mais  qni  annon^ait 
leur  invariable  resolution  de  ne  pas  soutfrir  qu’un  pouvoir 
etranger  portat  atteinte  aux  droits  de  la  republique. 

“Dans  toute  la  duree  de  son  existence,  an  milieu  des  revers 
comme  dans  la  prosperite,  cet  inebranlable  gonvernement  ne  fit 
qu’une  seule  fois  des  concessions  d  la  cour  de  Eome,  et  ce  fut 
pour  detacher  le  Pape  Jules  II.  de  la  ligue  de  Cambrai. 

“Jamais  il  ne  se  relaclia  du  soin  de  tenir  le  clerge  dans  une 
nullite  absolue  relativement  aux  affaires  politiques  ;  on  pent  en 
juger  par  la  conduite  qu’il  tint  avec  I’ordre  religieux  le  plus  re- 
doutable  et  le  plus  accoutume  d  s’immiscer  dans  les  secrets  de 
I’Ltat  et  dans  les  interets  temporels.” 

The  main  j)oints,  next  stated,  respecting  the  Jesuits  are, 
that  the  decree  which  permitted  their  establishment  in  Venice 
required  formal  renewal  every  three  years;  that  no  Jesuit  could 
stay  in  \enice  more  than  three  years;  that  the  slightest  disobe¬ 
dience  to  the  authority  of  the  government  was  instantly  punished 
by  imprisonment;  that  no  Venetian  could  enter  the  order  with¬ 
out  express  permission  from  the  government;  that  the  notaries 
were  forbidden  to  sanction  any  testamentary  disposal  of  property 
to  the  Jesuits;  finally,  that  the  heads  of  noble  families  were  for¬ 
bidden  to  permit  their  children  to  be  educated  in  the  Jesuits’ 
colleges,  on  pain  of  degradation  from  their  rank. 

Now,  let  it  be  observed  that  the  enforcement  of  absolute  ex¬ 
clusion  of  the  clergy  from  the  councils  of  the  state,  dates  exactly 
from  the  period  Avhich  I  have  marked  for  the  commencement  of 
the  decline  of  the  Venetian  power.  The  Pomanist  is  welcome 
to  his  advantage  in  this  fact,  if  advantage  it  be;  for  I  do  not 
bring  forward  the  conduct  of  the  senate  of  Venice,  as  Daru  does, 
by  way  of^  an  example  of  the  general  science  of  government! 
The  Venetians  accomplished  therein  what  we  ridiculously  call  a 
separation  of  “Church  and  State”  (as  if  the  State  were  not,  in 
all  Christendom,  necessarily  also  the  Church*),  but  ought  to  call 

*  Compare  Appendix  12. 


APPE57DIX,  5. 


367 


a  separation  of  lay  and  clerical  officers.  I  do  not  point  out  tliis 
separation  as  subject  of  praise,  but  as  the  witness  borne  by  the 
Venetians  against  the  principles  of  the  Papacy.  If  they  were  to 
blame,  in  yielding  to  their  fear  of  the  ambitious  spirit  of  Rome 
so  far  as  to  deprive  their  councils  of  all  religious  element,  what 
excuse  are  we  to  offer  for  the  state,  which,  with  Lords  Spiritual 
of  her  own  faith  already  in  her  senate,  permits  the  polity  of 
Rome  to  be  represented  by  lay  members?  To  have  sacrificed 
religion  to  mistaken  policy,  or  purchased  security  with  ignominy, 
w'ould  have  been  no  new  thing  in  the  world’s  history;  but  to  be 
at  once  impious  and  impolitic,  and  seek  for  danger  through  dis¬ 
honor,  was  reserved  for  the  English  parliament  of  1839. 

I  am  glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  referring  to,  and  farther 
enforcing,  the  note  on  this  subject  which,  not  without  delibera¬ 
tion,  I  appended  to  the  ‘‘Seven  Lamps;”  and  of  adding  to  it  the 
following  passage,  written  by  my  father  in  the  year  1839,  and 
published  in  one  of  the  journals  of  that  year: — a  passage  remark¬ 
able  as  much  for  its  intrinsic  valuf,  as  for  having  stated,  twelve 
years  ago,  truths  to  Avhich  the  mind  of  England  seems  but  now, 
and  that  slowly,  awakening. 

“We  hear  it  said,  that  it  cannot  be  merely  the  Roman  religion 
that  causes  the  difficulty  [respecting  Ireland],  for  we  were  once 
all  Roman  Catholics,  and  nations  abroad  of  this  faith  are  not  as 
the  Irish.  It  is  totally  overlooked,  that  when'  we  were  so,  our 
government  Avas  despotic,  and  fit  to  cope  with  this  dangerous 
religion,  as  most  of  the  Continental  governments  yet  are.  In 
Avhat  Roman  Catholic  state,  or  in  what  age  of  Roman  Catholic 
England,  did  we  ever  hear  of  such  agitation  as  noAV  exists  in 
Ireland  Ijy  evil  men  taking  advantage  of  an  anomalous  state  of 
things — Roman  Catholic  ignorance  in  the  people,  Protestant 
toleration  in  the  government?  We  have  yet  to  feel  the  tremen¬ 
dous  difficulty  in  which  Roman  Catholic  emancipation  has  in¬ 
volved  us.  Too  late  we  discover  that  a  Roman  Catholic  is  wholly 
incapable  of  being  safely  connected  with  the  British  constitution, 
as  it  now  exists,  in  any  near  relation.  The  present  constitution 
is  no  longer  fit  for  Catholics.  It  is  a  creature  essentially  Prot¬ 
estant,  groAving  with  the  groAvth,  and  strengthening  with  the 
strength,  of  Protestantism.  So  entirely  is  Protestantism  inter¬ 
woven  Avith  the  whole  frame  of  our  constitution  and  laws,  that  I 


3G8 


APPEN^DIX,  5. 


take  my  stand  on  this,  against  all  agitators  in  existence,  that  the 
Roman  religion  is  totally  incompatible  with  the  British  constitu¬ 
tion.  We  have,  in  trying  to  combine  them,  got  into  a  maze  of 
difficulties;  we  are  the  worse,  and  Ireland  none  the  better.  It 
is  idle  to  talk  of  municipal  reform  or  popular  Lords  Lieutenant. 
The  mild  sway  of  a  constitutional  monarchy  is  not  strong  enough 
for  a  Roman  Catholic  population.  The  stern  soul  of  a  Republi¬ 
can  would  not  shrink  from  sending  half  the  misguided  population 
and  all  the  priests  into  exile,  and  planting  in  their  place  an  in¬ 
dustrious  Protestant  people.  But  .you  cannot  do  this,  and  you 
cannot  convert  the  Irish,  nor  by  other  means  make  them  fit  to 
wear  the  mild  restraints  of  a  Protestant  Government.  It  was, 
moreover,  a  strange  logic  that  begot  the  idea  of  admitting 
Catholics  to  administer  any  part  of  our  laws  or  constitution. 
It  was  admitted  by  all  that,  by  the  very  act  of  abandoning  the 
Roman  religion,  we  became  a  free  and  enlightened  people.  It 
was  only  by  throwing  off  the  yoke  of  that  slavish  religion  that 
we  attained  to  the  freedom  of  thought  which  has  advanced  us  in 
the  scale  of  society.  We  are  so  much  advanced  by  adopting  and 
adhcriug  to  a  reformed  religion,  that  to  prove  our  liberal  and 
unprejudiced  views,  we  throw  down  the  barriers  betwixt  the  two 
religions,  of  which  the  one  is  the  acknowledged  cause  of  light 
and  knowledge,  the  other  the  cause  of  darkness  and  igno¬ 
rance.  We  are  'So  much  altered  to  the  better  by  leaving  this 
people  entirely,  and  giving  them  neither  part  nor  lot  amongst 
us,  that  it  becomes  proper  to  mingle  again  with  them.  We  have 
found  so  much  good  in  leaving  them,  that  we  deem  it  the  best 
possible  reason  for  returning  to  be  among  them.  No  fear  of 
theii’  Church  again  shaking  us,  with  all  our  light  and  knowledge. 
It  is  true,  the  most  enlightened  nations  fell  under  the  spell  of 
her  enchantments,  fell  into  total  darkness  and  superstition;  but 
no  fear  of  us — we  are  too  well  informed!  What  miserable  reason¬ 
ing!  infatuated  presumption!  I  fear  me,  when  the  Roman 
religion  rolled  her  clouds  of  darkness  over  the  earlier  ages,  that 
she  quenched  as  much  light,  and  knowledge,  and  judgment  as 
our  modern  Liberals  have  ever  displayed.  I  do  not  expect  a 
statesman  to  discuss  the  point  of  Transubstantiation  betwixt 
Protestant  and  Catholic,  nor  to  trace  the  narrow  lines  which  di¬ 
vide  Protestant  sectarians  from  each  other;  but  can  any  states- 


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WALL  VEIL  DECORATION. 


APPEliDIX,  6. 


369 


man  that  shall  have  taken  even  a  cursory  glance  at  the  face  of 
Europe,  hesitate  a  moment  on  the  choice  of  the  Protestant  re¬ 
ligion?  If  he  unfortunately  knew  nothing  of  its  being  the  true 
one  in  regard  to  our  eternal  interests,  he  is  at  least  bound  to  see 
whether  it  be  not  the  best  for  the  worldly  prosperity  of  a  people. 
He  may  be  but  moderately  imbued  with  pious  zeal  for  the  salva¬ 
tion  of  a  kingdom,  but  at  least  he  will  be  expected  to  weigh  the 
comparative  merits  of  religion,  as  of  law  or  government;  and 
blind,  indeed,  must  he  be  if  he  does  not  discern  that,  in  neglect¬ 
ing  to  cherish  the  Protestant  faith,  or  in  too  easily  yielding  to 
any  encroachments  on  it,  he  is  foregoing  the  use  of  a  state  engine 
more  powerful  than  all  the  laws  which  the  uninspired  legislators 
of  the  earth  have  ever  promulgated,  in  promoting  the  happiness, 
the  peace,  prosperity,  and  the  order,  the  industry,  and  the  wealth, 
of  a  people;  in  forming  every  quality  valuable  or  desirable  in  a 
subject  or  a  citizen;  in  sustaining  the  public  mind  at  that  point 
of  education  and  information  that  forms  the  best  security  for  the 
state,  and  the  best  preservative  for  the  freedom  of  a  people, 
whether  religious  or  political.” 

6.  EENAISSAXCE  ORNAMEISTTS. 

There  having  been  three  principal  styles  of  architecture  in 
Venice, — the  Greek  or  Byzantine,  the  Gothic,  and  the  Eenais- 
sance,  it  will  be  shown,  in  the  sequel,  that  the  Eenaissance  itself 
is  divided  into  three  correspondent  families:  Eenaissance  en¬ 
grafted  on  Byzantine,  which  is  earliest  and  best;  Eenaissance  en¬ 
grafted  on  Gothic,  Avhich  is  second,  and  second  best;  Eenaissance 
on  Eenaissance,  which  is  double  darkness,  and  worst  of  all.  The 
palaces  in  which  Eenaissance  is  engrafted  on  Byzantine  are  those 
noticed  by  Commj'nes:  they  are  characterized  by  an  ornamenta¬ 
tion  very  closely  resembling,  and  in  some  cases  identical  with, 
early  Byzantine  work;  namely,  groups  of  colored  marble  circles 
inclosed  in  interlacing  bands.  I  have  put  on  the  opposite  page 
one  of  these  ornaments,  from  the  Ca’  Trevisan,  in  which  a  most 
curious  and  delicate  piece  of  inlaid  design  is  introduced  into  a 
band  which  is  almost  exactly  copied  from  the  church  of  Theo- 
tocos  at  Constantinople,  and  correspondent  with  others  in  St. 
Mark’s.  There  is  also  much  Byzantine  feeling  in  the  treatment 


370 


APPENDIX,  7. 


of  the  animals,  especially  in  the  two  birds  of  the  lower  compart¬ 
ment,  while  the  peculiar  curves  of  the  cinque  cento  leafage  are 
visible  in  the  leaves  above.  The  dove,  alighted,  with  the  olive- 
branch  plucked  off,  is  opposed  to  the  raven  with  restless  expand¬ 
ed  wings.  Beneath  are  evidently  the  two  sacrifices  “of  every 
clean  fowl  and  of  every  clean  beast.”  The  color  is  given  with 
green  and  white  marbles,  the  dove  relieved  on  a  ground  of  grey= 
ish  green,  and  all  is  exquisitely  finished. 

In  Plate  I.,  p.  13,  the  upper  figure  is  from  the  same  palace 
(Ca’  Trevisau),  and  it  is  very  interesting  in  its  proportions.  If 
we  take  five  cirdles  in  geometrical  proportion,  each  diameter 
being  two-thsrds  of  the  diameter  next  above  it,  and  arrange  the 
circles  so  proportioned,  in  contact  witli  each  other,  in  the  manner 
shown  in  the  2)late,  we  shall  find  that  an  increase  quite  imper¬ 
ceptible  in  the  diameter  of  the  circles  in  the  angles,  will  enable 
us  to  inscribe  the  whole  in  a  square.  The  lines  so  described  will 
tlien  run  in  the  centre  of  the  white  bands.  I  cannot  be  certain 
that  this  is  the  actual  construction  of  the  Trevisan  design,  be¬ 
cause  it  is  on  a  high  wall  surface,  where  I  could  not  get  at  its 
measurements;  but  I  found  this  construction  exactly  coincide 
with  tlie  lines  of  my  eye  sketch.  The  low^er  figure  in  Plate  I.  is 
from  the  front  of  the  Ca’  Dario,  and  probably  struck  the  eye 
of  Commynes  in  its  first  brightness.  Salvatico,  indeed,  con¬ 
siders  both  the  Ca’  Trevisan  (which  once  belonged  to  Bianca 
Cappello)  and  the  Ca’  Dario,  as  buildings  of  the  sixteenth  cen¬ 
tury.  I  defer  the  discussion  of  the  question  at  present,  but  have, 

I  believe,  sufficient  reason  for  assuming  the  Ca’  Dario  to  have 
been  built  about  1486,  and  the  Ca’  Trevisan  not  much  later. 

7.  VAKIETIES  OF  THE  OKDEES. 

Of  these  phantasms  and  grotesques,  one  of  some  general  im¬ 
portance  is  that  commonly  called  Ionic,  of  which  the  idea  was 
taken  (Vitruvius  says)  from  a  woman’s  hair,  curled;  but  its  lat¬ 
eral  processes  look  more  like  rams’  horns:  be  that  as  it  may,  it 
IS  a  mere  piece  of  agreeable  extravagance,  and  if,  instead  of  rams’ 
horns,  you  put  ibex  horns,  or  cows’  horns,  or  an  ass’s  head  at 
once,  you  will  have  ibex  orders,  or  ass  orders,  or  any  number  of 
other  orders,  one  for  every  head  or  horn.  You  may  have  heard 


APPENDIX,  8. 


371 


of  another  order,  the  Composite,  which  is  Ionic  and  Corinthian 
mixed,  and  is  one  of  tlie  worst  of  ten  tlmusand  forms  referable 
to  the  Corinthian  as  their  head:  it  may  be  described  as  a  spoiled 
Corinthian.  And  you  may  have  also  heard  of  another  order, 
called  Tuscan  (which  is  no  order  at  all,  but  a  spoiled  Doric):  and 
of  another  called  Roman  Doric,  which  is  Doric  more  spoiled, 
both  which  are  simply  among  the  most  stupid  variations  ever  in- 
\ented  upon  forms  already  known.  I  find  also  in  a  French  pam- 
phlet  upon  architecture,*  as  applied  to  shops  and  dwelling  houses, 
a  sixth  order,  the  “  Ordre  Fran§ais,”  at  least  as  good  as  any  of 
the  thiee  last,  and  to  be  hailed  with  acclamation,  considering 
whence  it  comes,  there  being  usually  more  tendency  on  the  other 
side  of  the  channel  to  the  confusion  of  “orders”  than  their  mul¬ 
tiplication:  but  the  reader  will  find  in  the  end  that  there  are  in 
very  deed  only  two  orders,  of  which  the  Greek,  Doric,  and  Corin¬ 
thian  are  the  first  examples,  and  they  not  perfect,  nor  m  anywise 
sufficiently  representative  of  the  vast  families  to  which  they  be- 
long;  but  being  the  first  and  the  best  known,  they  may  properly 
be  considered  as  the  types  of  the  rest.  The  essential  distinctions 
of  the  two  gi'eat  orders  he  will  find  explained  in  §§  xxxv.  and 
xxxYi.  of  Chap.  XXVII.,  and  in  the  passages  there  referred  to; 
but  I  should  rather  desire  that  these  passages  might  be  read  in  the 
order  in  which  they  occur. 

8.  THE  NORTHERN  ENERGY. 

I  have  sketched  above,  in  the  First  Chapter,  the  great  events 
of  architectural  history  in  the  simplest  and  fewest  words  I  could; 
but  this  indraught  of  the  Lombard  energies  upon  the  Byzantine 
rest,  like  a  wild  north  wind  descending  into  a  space  of  rarified 
atmosphere,  and  encountered  by  an  Arab  simoom  from  the  south, 
may  well  require  from  us  some  farther  attention;  for  the  ditfer- 
ences  in  all  these  schools  are  more  in  the  degrees  of  their  im- 

*  L’Artiste  en  Biitiments,  par  Louis  Berteaux:  Dijon,  1848.  My  printer 
writes  at  the  side  of  the  page  a  note,  wdiich  I  insert  with  thanks: — “This 
is  not  the  first  attempt  at  a  French  order.  The  writer  has  a  Treatise  by 
Sebastian  Le  Clerc,  a  great  man  in  his  generation,  which  contains  a  Roman 
order,  a  Spanish  order,  which  the  inventor  appears  to  think  very  grand, 
and  a  new  French  order  nationalised  by  the  Gallic  cock  crowing  and  clap¬ 
ping  its  wings  in  the  capital.” 


373 


APPENDIX,  8. 


petuosity  and  refinement  (these  qualities  being,  in  most  cases,  in 
inverse  ratio,  yet  much  united  by  the  Arabs)  than  in  the  style  of 
the  ornaments  they  employ.  The  same  leaves,  the  same  animals, 
the  same  arrangements,  are  used  by  Scandinavians,  ancient  Bri¬ 
tons,  Saxons,  Normans,  Lombards,  Romans,  Byzantines,  and 
Arabians;  all  being  alike  descended  through  classic  Greece  from 
Assyria,  and  some  from  Phoenicia.  The  belts  which 
encompass  the  Assyrian  bulls,  in  the  hall  of  the  British  Museum, 
are  the  same  as  the  belts  of  the  ornaments  found  in  Scandinavian 
tumuli;  their  method  of  ornamentation  is  the  same  as  that  of  the 
gate  of  Mycenae,  and  of  the  Lombard  pulpit  of  St.  Ambrogio  of 
Milan,  and  of  the  church  of  Theotocos  at  Constantinople;  the 
essential  differences  among  the  great  schools  are  their  differences 
of  temper  and  treatment,  and  science  of  expression;  it  is  absurd 
to  talk  of  Norman  ornaments,  and  Lombard  ornaments,  and 
Byzantine  ornaments,  as  formally  distinguished;  but  there  is 
irreconcileable  separation  between  Arab  temper,  and  Lombard 
temper,  and  Byzantine  tem23er. 

Now,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  comisare  the  three  schools, 
it  appears  to  me  tliat  the  Arab. and  Lombard  are  both  distin¬ 
guished  from  the  Byzantine  by  their  energy  and  love  of  excite¬ 
ment,  but  the  Lombard  stands  alone  in  his  love  of  jest:  Neither 
an  Arab  nor  Byzantine  ever  jests  in  his  architecture;  the  Lom¬ 
bard  has  great  difficulty  in  ever  being  thoroughly  serious;  thus 
they  represent  three  conditions  of  humanity,  one  in  perfect  rest, 
the  Byzantine,  with  exquisite  perception  of  grace  and  dignity; 
the  Arab,  with  the  same  perception  of  grace,  but  with  a  restless 
fever  in  his  blood;  the  Lombard,  equally  energetic,  but  not 
burning  himself  away,  capable  of  submitting  to  law,  and  of  en- 
joying  jest.  But  the  Arabian  feverishness  infects  even  the  Lom¬ 
bard  in  the  South,  showing  itself,  however,  in  endless  invention, 
vith  a  refreshing  firmness  and  order  directing  the  whole  of  it. 
riie  excitement  is  greatest  in  the  earliest  times,  most  of  all  shown 
in  St.  Michele  of  Pavia;  and  I  am  strongly  disposed  to  connect 
much  of  its  peculiar  manifestations  with  the  Lombard’s  habits  of 
eating  and  drinking,  especially  his  carnivorousness.  The  Lom¬ 
bard  of  early  times  seems  to  have  been  exactly  what  a  tiger 
w’ould  be,  if  you  could  give  him  love  of  a  joke,  vigorous  imagina¬ 
tion,  strong  sense  of  justice,  fear  of  hell,  knowledge  of  northern 


APPENDIX,  8. 


373 


mythology,  a  stone  den,  and  a  mallet  and  chisel;  fancy  him  pac- 
ing  np  and  down  in  the  said  den  to  digest  his  dinner,  and  striking 
on  the  w'all,  with  a  new  fancy  in  his  liead,  at  every  turn,  and  you 
have  the  Lonibardic  sculptor.  As  civilisation  increases  the  supply 
of  vegetables,  and  shortens  that  of  wild  beasts,  the  excitement 
diminishes  ;  it  is  still  strong  in  the  thirteenth  century  at  Lyons 
and  Rouen;  it  dies  away  gradually  in  the  later  Gothic,  and  is 
quite  extinct  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

I  think  I  shall  best  illustrate  this  general  idea  by  simply 
copying  the  entries  in  my  diary  which  were  written  when,  after 
six  months’  close  study  of  Byzantine  work  in  Venice,  I  came 
again  to  the  Lombard  work  of  Verona  and  Pavia.  There  are 
some  other  i^oints  alluded  to  in  these  entries  not  pertaining  to  the 
matter  immediately  in  hand;  but  I  have  left  them,  as  they  will  be 
of  use  hereafter. 

‘‘(Verona.)  Comparing  the  arabesque  and  sculpture  of  the 
Duomo  here  with  St.  Mark’s,  the  first  thing  that  strikes  one  is 
the  low  relief,  the  second,  the  greater  motipn  and  spirit,  with 
infinitely  less  grace  and  science.  With  the  Byzantine,  however 
rude  the  cutting,  every  line  is  lovely,  and  the  animals  or  men  are 
placed  in  any  attitudes  which  secure  ornamental  etfect,  sometimes 
impossible  ones,  always  severe,  restrained,  or  languid.  With  the 
Romanesque  workmen  all  the  figures  show  the  effort  (often  suc¬ 
cessful)  to  express  energetic  action;  hunting  chiefly,  much  fight¬ 
ing,  and  both  spirited;  some  of  the  dogs  running  capitally, 
straining  to  it,  and  the  knights  hitting  hard,  while  yet  the  faces 
and  drawing  are  in  the  last  degree  barbarous.  At  Venice  all  is 
graceful,  fixed,  or  languid;  the  eastern  torpor  is  in  every  line, — 
the  mark  of  a  school  formed  on  severe  traditions,  and  keeping  to 
them,  and  never  likely  or  desirous  to  rise  beyond  them,  but 
with  an  exquisite  sense  of  beauty,  and  much  solemn  religious 
faith. 

“If  the  Greek  outer  arch i volt  of  St.  Mark’s  is  Byzantine,  the 
la^v  is  somewhat  broken  by  its  busy  domesticity;  figures  engaged 
in  every  trade,  and  in  the  preparation  of  viands  of  all  kinds;  a 
crowded  kind  of  London  Christmas  scene,  interleaved  (literally)’ 
by  the  superb  balls  of  leafage,  unique  in  sculpture;  but  even  this- 
is  strongly  opposed  to  the  wild  war  and  chase  passion  of  the 
Lombard.  Farther,  the  Lombard  building  is  as  sharp,  i^reeise. 


374 


APPEN-DIX,  8. 


cind  accnrcitc,  as  that  of  St.  Mark’s  is  careless.  The  Byzantines 
seem  to  have  been  too  lazy  to  put  their  stones  together ;  and,  in 
general,  my  first  impression  on  coming  to  Verona,  after  four 
montlis  in  Venice,  is  of  the  exquisitely  neat  masonry  and  perfect 
feeling  here;  a  style  of  Gotliic  formed  by  a  combination  of  Lom¬ 
bard  surface  ornament  with  Pisan  Gothic,  than  Avhich  nothing 
can  possibly  be  more  chaste,  pure,  or  solemn.” 

I  have  said  much  of  the  shafts  of  the  entrance  to  the  crypt  of 
St.  Zeno;*  the  following  note  of  the  sculptures  on  the  archivolt 
above  them  is  to  our  present  purpose: 

“It  is  covered  by  very  light  but  most  efiPective  bas-reliefs  of 
jesting  subject: — two  cocks  carrying  on  their  shoulders  a  long 
staff  to  which  a  fox  (?)  is  tied  by  the  legs,  hanging  down  between 
them:  the  strut  of  the  foremost  cock,  lifting  one  leg  at  right 
angles  to  the  other,  is  delicious.  Then  a  stag  hunt,  with  a  cen¬ 
taur  horseman  drawing  a  bow;  the  arrow  has  gone  clear  through 
the  stag’s  throat,  and  is  sticking  there.  Several  capital  hunts 
with  dogs,  with  frnit  trees  between,  and  birds  in  them;  the 
leaves,  considering  the  early  time,  singularly  well  set,  with  the 
edges  outwards,  sharp,  and  deep  cut:  snails  and  frogs  filling  uj^ 
the  intervals,  as  if  suspended  in  the  air,  with  some  saucy  puppies 
on  their  hind  legs,  two  or  three  nondescript  beasts;  and,  finally, 
on  the  centre  of  one  of  the,  arches  on  the  south  side,  an  elephant 
and  castle, — a  very  strange  elephant,  yet  cut  as  if  the  carver  had 
seen  one.” 

Observe  this  elephant  and  castle;  we  shall  meet  with  him 
farther  north. 

These  sculptures  of  St.  Zeno  are,  however,  quite  quiet  and 
tame  compared  with  those  of  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  which  are 
designed  also  in  a  somewhat  gloomier  mood;  significative,  as  I 
think,  of  indigestion.  (Note  that  they  are  much  earlier  than 
St.  Zeno;  of  the  seventh  century  at  latest.  There  is  more  of 
niglitmare,  and  less  of  wit  in  them.)  Lord  Lindsay  has  described 
them  admirably,  but  has  not  said  half  enough;  the  state  of  mind 
represented  by  the  west  front  is  more  that  of  a  feverish  dream, 
than  lesultant  from  any  determined  architectural  purpose,  or 
even  from  any  definite  love  and  delight  in  the  grotesque.  One 
capital  is  covered  with  a  mass  of  grinning  heads,  other  heads 

*  The  lower  group  in  Plate  XVII. 


APPENDIX,  8. 


375 


grow  out  of  two  bodies,  or  out  of  and  under  feet;  the  creatures 
are  all  fighting,  or  devouring,  or  struggling  which  shall  be  upper¬ 
most,  and  yet  in  an  inetfectual  way,  as  if  they  would  fight  for 
ever,  and  come  to  no  decision.  Neither  sphinxes  nor  centaurs 
did  I  notice,  nor  a  single  peacock  (I  believe  peacoeks  to  be  purely 
Byzantine),  but  mermaids  with  tioo  tails  (the  sculptor  having 
perhaps  seen  double  at  the  time),  strange,  large  fish,  apes,  stags 
(bulls?),  dogs,  wolves,  and  horses,  griffins,  eagles,  long-tailed 
birds  (cocks?),  hawks,  and  dragons,  without  end,  or  with  a  dozen 
of  ends,  as  the  case  may  be;  smaller  birds,  with  rabbits,  and  small 
nondescripts,  filling  the  friezes.  The  actual  leaf,  which  is  used 
in  the  best  Byzantine  mouldings  at  Venice,  occurs  in  parts  of 
these  Pavian  designs.  But  the  Lombard  animals  are  all  alive, 
and  fiercely  alive  too,  all  impatience  and  spring :  the  Byzantine 
birds  peck  idly  at  the  fruit,  and  the  animals  hardly  touch  it  with 
their  noses.  The  cinque  cento  birds  in  Venice  hold  it  up  dain¬ 
tily,  like  train-bearers;  the  birds  in  the  earlier  Gothic  jieck  at 
it  hungrily  and  naturally;  but  the  Lombard  beasts  gripe  at  it 
like  tigers,  and  tear  it  otf  with  Avrithing  li^is  and  glaring  eyes. 
They  are  exactly  like  Jip  with  the  bit  of  geranium,  worrying 
imaginary  cats  in  it.” 

The  notice  of  the  leaf  in  the  above  extract  is  important, — it 
is  the  vine-leaf ;  used  constantly  both  by  Byzantines  and  Lom¬ 
bards,  but  by  the  latter  with  especial  frequency,  though  at  this 
time  they  were  hardly  able  to  indicate  what  they  meant.  It 
forms  the  most  remarkable  generality  of  the  St.  Michele  decora¬ 
tion  ;  though,  had  it  not  luckily  been  carved  on  the  fa9ade, 
twining  round  a  stake,  and  with  grapes,  I  should  never  have 
known-  what  it  Avas  meant  for,  its  general  form  being  a  succes¬ 
sion  of  sharp  lobes,  Avith  incised  furrows  to  the  point  of  each. 
But  it  is  thrown  about  in  endless  change  ;  four  or  fiA'e  A^arieties 
of  it  might  be  found  on  e\’ery  cluster  of  capitals  :  and  not  con¬ 
tent  with  this,  the  Lombards  hint  the  same  form  eA^en  in  their 
griffin  wings.  They  love  the  A'ine  very  heartily. 

In  St.  Michele  of  Lucca  we  have  perhaps  the  noblest  instance 
in  Italy  of  the  Lombard  spirit  in  its  later  refinement.  It  is 
some  four  centuries  later  than  St.  Michele  of  Pavia,  and  the 
method  of  workmanship  is  altogether  different.  In  the  Pavian 
church,  nearly  all  the  ornament  is  cut  in  a  coarse  sandstone,  in 


376 


APPENDIX,  8. 


bold  relief  :  a  darker  and  harder  stone  (I  think,  not  serpentine, 
but  its  surface  is  so  disguised  by  the  lustre  of  ages  that  I  could 
not  be  certain)  is  used  for  tlie  capitals  of  the  western  door,  which 
are  especially  elaborate  in  their  sculiiture ; — two  devilish  apes, 
or  apish  devils,  I  know  not  which,,  with  bristly  moustaches  and 
edgy  teeth,  half-crouching,  with  their  hands  impertinently  on 
their  knees,  ready  for  a  spit  or  a  spring  if  one  goes  near  them  ; 
but  all  is  pure  bossy  sculpture ;  there  is  no  inlaying,  except  of 
some  variegated  tiles  in  the  shape  of  saucers  set  concave  (an  orna¬ 
ment  used  also  very  gracefully  in  St.  Jacopo  of  Bologna):  and 
the  whole  surface  of  the  church  is  enriched  with  the  massy  re¬ 
liefs,  well  preserved  everywhere  above  the  reach  of  human 
animals,  but  utterly  destroyed  to  some  five  or  six  feet  from  the 
giound  :  worn  away  into  large  cellular  hollows  and  caverns,  some 
almost  deep  enough  to  render  the  walls  unsafe,  entirely  owing  to 
the  uses  to  which  the  recesses  of  the  church  are  dedicated  by 
the  refined  and  high-minded  Italians.  But  St.  Michele  of  Lucca 
is  wrought  entirely  in  white  marble  and  green  serpentine  ;  there 
is  hardly  any  relieved  sculpture  except  in  the  capitals  of  the 
shafts  and  cornices,  and  all  the  designs  of  wall  ornament  are 
inlaid  with  excpiisite  precision — white  on  dark  ground  j  the 
giound  being  cut  out  and  filled  with  serpentine,  the  figures  left 
in  solid  marble.  The  designs  of  the  Pavian  church  are  encrusted 
on  the  walls  ;  of  the  Lucchese,  incorporated  with  them  ;  small 
portions  of  real  sculpture  being  introduced  exactly  where  the 
eye,  after  its  rest  on  the  flatness  of  the  wall,  will  take  most  delight 
in  the  piiece  of  substantial  form.  The  entire  arrangement  is 
perfect  beyond  all  praise,  and  the  morbid  restlessness  of  the  old 
designs  is  now  appeased.  Geometry  seems  to  have  acted  as  a 
febrifuge,  for  beautiful  geometrical  designs  are  introduced  amidst 
the  tumult  of  the  hunt ;  and  there  is  no  more  seeing  double, 
nor  ghastly  monstrosity  of  conception  ;  no  more  ending  of  everv- 
thing  in  something  else  ;  no  more  disputing  for  spare  legs  among 
bewildered  bodies  ;  no  more  setting  on  of  heads  wrong  side  fore¬ 
most.  The  fragments  have  eome  together  :  we  are  out  of  the 
Inferno  wuth  its  weeping  down  the  spine  ;  we  are  in  the  fair 
hunting-fields  of  the  Lucchese  mountains  (though  they  had  their 
teais  also),  "with  horse,  and  hound,  and  hawk  ;  and  merrv  blast 
of  the  trumpet. — Very  strange  creatures  to  be  hunted,  in  all 


APPENDIX,  8. 


377 


truth ;  but  still  creatures  with  a  single  head,  and  that  on  their 
shoulders,  which  is  exactly  the  last  place  in  the  Pavian  church 
where  a  head  is  to  be  looked  for, 

JMy  good  friend  Mr.  Cockerell  wonders,  in  one  of  his  lectures, 
why  I  give  so  much  praise  to  this  “  crazy  front  of  Lucca.”  But 
it  is  not  crazy ;  not  by  any  means.  Altogether  sober,  in  com¬ 
parison  with  the  early  Lombard  work,  or  with  our  Norman. 
Crazy  in  one  sense  it  is  :  utterly  neglected,  to  the  breaking  of 
its  old  stout  heart ;  the  venomous  nights  and  salt  frosts  of  the 
Maremma  winters  have  their  way  with  it — “  Poor  Tom’s  a 
cold  !”  The  weeds  that  feed  on  the  marsh  air,  have  twisted 
themselves  into  its  crannies ;  the  polished  fragments  of  serpen¬ 
tine  are  spit  and  rent  out  of  their  cells,  and  lie  in  green  ruins 
along  its  ledges  ;  the  salt  sea  winds  have  eaten  away  the  fair 
shafting  of  its  star  window  into  a  skeleton  of  crumbling  rays. 
It  cannot  stand  much  longer  ;  may  Heaven  only,  in  its  benignity, 
preserve  it  from  restoration,  and  the  sands  of  the  Serchio  give  it 
honorable  grave. 

In  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  Plate  YI.,  I  gave  a  faithful  drawing 
of  one  of  its  upper  arches,  to  which  I  must  refer  the  reader  ;  for 
there  is  a  marked  piece  of  character  in  the  figure  of  the  horseman 
on  the  left  of  it.  And  in  making  this  reference,  I  Avould  say  a  few 
words  about  those  much  abused  plates  of  the  “Seven  Lamps.” 
They  are  black,  they  are  overbitten,  they  are  hastily  drawn,  they 
are  coarse  and  disagreeable  ;  how  disagreeable  to  many  readers 
I  venture  not  to  conceive.  But  their  truth  is  carried  to  an  ex¬ 
tent  never  before  attempted  in  architectural  drawing.  It  does 
not  in  the  least  follow  that  because  a  drawing  is  delicate,  or  looks 
careful,  it  has  been  carefully  drawn  from  the  thing  represented  ; 
in  nine  instances  out  of  ten,  careful  and  delicate  drawings  are 
made  at  home.  It  is  not  so  easy  as  the  reader,  perhaps,  imagines, 
to  finish  a  drawing  altogether  on  the  spot,  especially  of  details 
seventy  feet  from  the  ground  ;  and  any  one  who  will  try  the 
jiosition  in  which  I  have  had  to  do  some  of  my  work — standing, 
namel}’^,  on  a  cornice  or  window  sill,  holding  by  one  arm  round 
a  shaft,  and  hanging  over  the  street  (or  canal,  at  Venice),  with 
my  sketch-book  supported  against  the  wall  from  which  I  w;is 
drawing,  by  my  breast,  so  as  to  leave  my  right  hand  free — will 
not  thenceforward  wonder  that  shadows  should  be  occasionally 


378 


APPENDIX,  8. 


carelessly  laid  in,  or  lines  drawn  with  some  unsteadiness.  But, 
steady,  or  infirm,  the  sketches  of  which  those  plates  in  the 
“  Seven  Lamps”  are  fac-similes,  were  made  from  the  architecture 
itself,  and  represent  that  architecture  with  its  actual  shadows  at 
the  time  of  day  at  which  it  was  drawn,  and  with  every  fissure 
and  line  of  it  as  they  now  exist ;  so  that  when  I  am  speaking  of 
some  new  point,  which  perhaps  the  drawing  was  not  intended  to 
illustrate,  I  can  yet  turn  back  to  it  with  perfect  certainty  that 
if  anything  be  found  in  it  bearing  on  matters  nowin  hand,  I  may 
depend  upon  it  just  as  securely  as  if  I  had  gone  back  to  look  again 
at  the  building. 

It  is  necessary  that  my  readers  should  understand  this 
thoroughly,  and  I  did  not  before  sufficiently  explain  it  ;  but  I 
believe  I  can  show  them  the  use  of  this  kind  of  truth,  now  that 
we  are  again  concerned  with  this  front  of  Lucca.  They  will  find  a 
drawing  of  the  entire  front  in  Gaily  Knight’s  ‘ 'Architecture  of 
Italy.”  It  may  serve  to  give  them  an  idea  of  its  general  disposi¬ 
tion,  and  it  looks  very  careful  and  accurate  ;  but  every  bit  of  the 
ornament  on  it  is  drawn  out  of  the  artist’s  head.  There  is  not 
one  line  of  it  that  exists  on  the  building.  The  reader  will  there¬ 
fore,  perhaps,  think  my  ugly  black  plate  of  somewhat  more  value, 
upon  tlie  whole,  in  its  rough  veracity,  than  the  other  in  its  deli¬ 
cate  fiction.* 

As,  however,  I  made  a  drawing  of  another  part  of  the  chureh 
somewhat  more  delicately,  and  as  I  do  not  choose  that  my  favor¬ 
ite  church  should  suffer  in  honor  by  my  coarse  work,  I  have  had 
this,  as  far  as  might  be,  fac-similied  by  line  engraving  (Plate 
XXL).  It  represents  the  southern  side  of  the  lower  arcade  of  the 
west  front ;  and  may  convey  some  idea  of  the  exquisite  finish  and 
grace  of  the  whole  ;  but  the  old  plate,  in  the  "  Seven  Lamps,” 

*  One  of  the  upper  stories  is  also  in  Gaily  Knight’s  plate  represented  as 
merely  banded,  and  otherwise  plain :  it  is,  in  reality,  covered  with  as  deli¬ 
cate  inlaying  as  the  rest.  The  whole  front  is  besides  out  of  proportion,  and 
out  of  perspective,  at  once ;  and  yet  this  work  is  referred  to  as  of  authority, 
by  our  architects.  Well  may  our  architecture  fall  from  its  place  among  the 
fine  arts,  as  it  is  doing  rapidly;  nearly  all  our  works  of  value  being  devoted 
to  the  Greek  architecture,  which  is  utterly  useless  to  \is — or  worse.  One 
most  noble  book,  however,  has  been  dedicated  to  our  English  abbeys,— ]\Ir. 
E.  Sharpe’s  ‘‘Architectural  Parallels”— almost  a  model  of  what  I  should 
like  to  see  done  for  the  Gothic  of  all  Europe. 


XXI, 


V/ALL  VEIL  DECORATION 


APPENDIX,  8. 


379 


gives  a  nearer  view  of  one  of  the  upj^er  arches,  and  a  more  faith¬ 
ful  impression  of  the  present  aspect  of  the  work,  and  especially 
of  the  seats  of  the  horsemen  ;  the  limb  straight,  and  well  down 
on  the  stirrup  (the  warrior’s  seat,  observe,  2iot  the  jockey’s),  with 
a  single  pointed  spur  on  the  heel.  The  bit  of  the  lower  cornice 
under  this  arch  I  could  not  see,  and  therefore  had  not  drawn  ; 
it  was  supplied  from  beneath  another  arch.  I  am  afraid,  how¬ 
ever,  the  reader  has  lost  the  thread  of  my  story  while  I  have  been 
recommending  my  veracity  to  him.  I  was  insisting  upon  the 
healthy  tone  of  this  Lucca  work  as  compared  with  the  old  spec¬ 
tral  Lombard  friezes.  The  apes  of  the  Pavian  church  ride  with¬ 
out  stirrups,  but  all  is  in  good  order  and  harness  here:  civilisation 
had  done  its  work ;  there  was  reaping  of  corn  in  the  Val  d’Arno, 
though  rough  hunting  still  uj)on  its  hills.  But  in  the  north, 
though  a  century  or  two  later,  we  find  the  forests  of  the  Khone, 
and  its  rude  limestone  cotes,  haunted  by  phantasms  still  (more 
meat-eating,  then,  I  think).  I  do  not  know  a  more  interesting 
group  of  cathedrals  than  that  of  Lyons,  Vienne,  and  Valencia: 
a  more  interesting  indeed,  generally,  than  beautiful;  but  there 
is  a  row  of  niches  on  the  west  front  of  Lyons,  and  a  course  of 
panelled  decoration  about  its  doors,  which  is,  without  exception, 
the  most  exquisite  piece  of  N'orthern  Gothic  I  ever  beheld,  and 
with  which  I  know  nothing  that  is  even  comparable,  except  the 
work  of  the  north  transept  of  Rouen,  described  in  the  “  Seven 
Lamps,”  p.  159;  work  of  about  the  same  date,and  exactly  the  same 
plan;  quatrefoils  filled  with  grotesques,  but  somewhat  less  finished 
in  execution,  and  somewhat  less  wild  in  imagination.  I  wrote 
down  hastily,  and  in  their  oAvn  course,  the  subjects  of  some  of 
the  quatrefoils  of  Lyons;  of  which  I  here  give  the  reader  the 
sequence  : — 

1.  Elephant  and  castle ;  less  graphic  than  the  St.  Zeno  one. 

2.  A  huge  head  walking  on  two  legs,  turned  backwards, 

hoofed  ;  the  head  has  a  horn  behind,  with  draqtery 
over  it,  which  ends  in  another  head. 

3.  A  boar  hunt ;  the  boar  under  a  tree,  very  spirited. 

4.  A  bird  putting  its  head  between  its  legs  to  bite  its  own 

tail,  which  ends  in  a  head. 

5.  A  dragon  with  a  human  head  set  on  the  wrong  way. 


sso 


APPENDIX,  8. 


6.  St.  Peter  awakened  by  the  angel  in  prison.5  full  of  spirit, 

the  prison  picturesque,  with  a  trefoiled  arch,,  the  angel 
eager,  St.  Peter  startled,  and  full  of  motion. 

7.  St.  Peter  led  out  by  the  angel. 

8.  The  miraculous  draught  of  fishes  ;  fish  and  all,  in  the 

small  space. 

9.  A  large  leaf,  with  two  snails  rampant,  coming  out  of  nau¬ 

tilus  shells,  with  grotesque  faces,  and  eyes  at  the  ends 
of  their  horns. 

10.  A  man  with  an  axe  striking  at  a  dog’s  head,  which  comes 

out  of  a  nautilus  shell:  the  rim  of  the  shell  branches 
into  a  stem  with  two  large  leaves. 

11.  Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian  ;  his  body  very  full  of  arrows. 

12.  Beasts  coming  to  ark;  Noah  opening  a  kind  of  wicker 

cage. 

13.  Noah  building  the  ark  on  shores. 

14.  A  vine  leaf  with  a  dragon’s  head  and  tail,  the  one  biting 

the  other. 

15.  A  man  riding  a  goat,  catching  a  flying  devil. 

16.  An  eel  or  muraena  growing  into  a  bunch  of  flowers,  which 

turns  into  two  wings. 

17.  A  sprig  of  hazel,  with  nuts,  thrown  all  around  the  quatre- 

foils  with  a  squirrel  in  centre,  apparently  attached  to 
the  tree  only  by  its  enormous  tail,  richly  furrowed  into 
hair,  and  nobly  sweeping. 

18.  Four  hares  fastened  together  by  the  ears,  galloping  in  a 

circle.  Mingled  with  these  grotesques  are  many 
and  huchler  combats,  the  bucklers  being  round  and 
conical  like  a  had ;  I  thought  the  first  I  noticed, 
carried  by  a  man  at  full  gallop  on  horseback,  had  been 
a  small  umbrella. 

This  list  of  subjects  may  sufficiently  illustrate  the  feverish 
character  of  the  Northern  Energy  ;  but  influencing  the  treatment 
of  the  whole  there  is  also  the  Northern  love  of  what  is  called  the 
Grotesque,  a  feeling  which  I  find  myself,  for  the  present,  quite 
incapable  either  of  analysing  or  defining,  though  we  all  have  a 
distinct  idea  attached  to  the  word:  I  shall  try,  however,  in  the 
next  volume. 


APPENDIX^  9,  10,  11. 


381 


9.  WOODEN  CHURCHES  OF  THE  NORTH. 

I  cannot  i^ledge  myself  to  this  theory  of  the  origin  of  the 
vaulting  shaft,  but  the  reader  will  find  some  interesting  confirma¬ 
tions  of  it  in  Dahl’s  Avork  on  the  wooden  churches  of  Norway. 
The  inside  view  of  the  church  of  Borgund  shows  the  timber  con¬ 
struction  of  one  shaft  run  up  through  a  crossing  architrave,  and 
continued  into  the  clerestory ;  Avhile  the  church  of  Urnes  is  in 
the  exact  form  of  a  basilica ;  but  the  wall  above  the  arches  is 
formed  of  planks,  Avith  a  strong  upright  aboA'eeach  capital.  The 
passage  cpioted  from  Stephen  Eddy’s  Life  of  Bishop  Wilfrid,  at 
p.  86  of  Churton’s  “  Early  English  Church,”  gives  us  one  of  the 
transformations  or  petrifactions  of  the  Avooden  Saxon  churches. 
“  At  Kipon  he  built  a  neAv  church  of  iJoU&lied  stone,  Avith  columns 
variously  ornamented,  and  porches.”  Mr.  Churton  adds  :  ‘‘It 
was  perhaps  in  bad  imitation  of  the  marble  buildings  he  had  seen 
in  Italy,  that  he  Avashed  the  Avails  of  this  original  York  Minster, 
and  made  them  ‘  whiter  than  snoAv.’  ” 

10.  CHURCH  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 

The  A’ery  cause  which  enabled  the  Venetians  to  possess  them- 
seh'es  of  the  body  of  St.  Mark,  was  the  destruction  of  the  church 
by  the  caliph  for  the  sake  of  its  marbles :  the  Arabs  and 
Venetians,  though  bitter  enemies,  thus  building  on  the  same 
models  ;  these  in  reA’erence  for  the  destroyed  church,  and  those 
with  the  very  pieces  of  it.  In  the  somewhat  ])rolix  account  of 
the  matter  giA^en  in  the  Notizie  Storiche  (above  quoted)  the  main 
points  are,  that  “  il  Califa  de’ Saraceni,  per  fabbricarsi  un  Palazzo 
presse  di  Babilonia,  aA'eA^a  ordinato  che  dalle  Chiese  d’  Cristiani 
si  togliessero  i  piu  scelti  marmi  and  that  the  Venetians,  “videro 
sotto  i  loro  ocelli  flagellarsi  crudelmente  iin  Cristiano  per  aver 
infranto  un  marmo.”  I  heartily  Avish  that  the  same  kind  of 
punishment  were  enforced  to  this  day,  for  the  same  sin. 

11.  RENAISSANCE  LANDSCAPE. 

I  am  glad  here  to  re-assert  opinions  Avhich  it  has  grieved  me 
to  be  suspected  of  having  changed.  The  calmer  tone  of  the 


382 


APPENDIX,  11. 


second  volume  of  Modern  Painters,”  as  compared  with  the 
first,  induced,  I  believe,  this  suspicion,  very  justifiably,  in  the 
minds  of  many  of  its  readers.  The  difference  resulted,  however, 
from  the  simple  fact,  that  the  first  was  written  in  great  haste 
and  indignation,  for  a  special  purpose  and  time ; — the  second, 
after  I  had  got  engaged,  almost  unawares,  in  inquiries  which 
could  not  be  hastily  nor  indignantly  pursued;  my  opinions  re¬ 
maining  then,  and  remaining  now,  altogether  unchanged  on  the 
subject  which  led  me  into  the  discussion.  And  that  no  farther 
doubt  of  them  may  be  entertained  by  any  who  may  think  them 
wortli  questioning,  I  shall  here,  once  for  all,  express  them  in  the 
plainest  and  fewest  words  I  can.  I  think  that  J.  M.  W.  Turner 
is  not  only  the  greatest  (professed)  landscape  painter  who  ever 
lived,  but  that  he  has  in  him  as  much  as  would  have  furnished  all 
the  rest  with  such  power  as  they  had;  and  that  if  Ave  put  Nicolo 
Poussin,  Salvator,  and  our  OAvn  Grainsborough  out  of  the  group,  he 
would  cut  up  into  Claudes,  Cuyps,  Ruysdaels,  and  such  others,  by 
uncounted  bunches.  I  hope  this  is  plainly  and  strongly  enough 
stated.  And  farther,  I  like  his  later  pictures,  up  to  the  year 
1845,  the  best ;  and  believe  that  those  persons  who  only  like  his 
early  pictures  do  not,  in  fact,  like  him  at  all.  They  do  not  like 
that  which  is  essentially  Ms.  They  like  that  in  Avhich  he  resem¬ 
bles  other  men;  which  he  had  learned  from  Loutherbourg,  Claude, 
or  Wilson;  that  Avhich  is  indeed  his  oAvn,  they  do  not  care  for. 
Hot  that  there  is  not  much  of  his  oAvn  in  his  early  works;  they  are 
all  invaluable  in  their  way  ;  but  those  persons  who  can  find  no 
beauty  in  bis  strangest  fantasy  on*  the  Academy  walls,  cannot 
distinguish  the  peculiarly  Turneresque  characters  of  the  earlier 
pictures.  And,  therefore,  I  again  state  here,  that  I  think  his 
pictures  painted  between  the  years  1830  and  1845  his  greatest; 
and  that  his  entire  poAver  is  best  represented  by  such  pictures  as 
the  Temeraire,  tlie  Sun  of  Venice  going  to  Sea,  and  others, 
painted  exactly  at  the  time  Avhen  the  public  and  the  press  A\'ere 
together  loudest  in  abuse  of  him. 

I  desire,  hoAveATr,  the  reader  to  observe  that  I  said,  above, 
landscape  painters,  among  Avdiom,  perhaps,  I  should 
hardly  liaA’e  put  Gainsl)orough.  The  landscape  of  the  great 
figure  painters  is  often  majestic  in  the  highest  degree,  and  Tin- 
toret’s  esjAecially  sIioaa's  exactly  the  same  poAA^er  and  feeling  as 


APPENDIX,  11. 


383 


Turner’s.  If  with  Turner  I  were  to  rank  the  historical  painters 
as  landscapists,  estimating  rather  the  power  they  show,  than 
the  actual  value  of  the  landscape  they 
produced,  I  should  class  those,  whose 
landscapes  I  have  studied,  in  some  such 
order  as  this  at  the  side  of  the  page  : — 
associating  with  the  landscape  of  Peru- 
gino  that  of  Francia  and  Angelico,  and 
the  other  severe  painters  of  religious 
subjects.  I  have  put  Turner  and  Tin- 
toret  side  by  side,  not  knowing  which  is, 
in  landscape,  the  greater;  I  had  nearly 
associated  in  the  same  manner  the  noble 
names  of  John  Bellini  and  Albert  Durer; 
but  Bellini  must  be  put  first,  for  his 
jirofound  religious  peace  yet  not  sepa¬ 
rated  from  the  other,  if  but  that  we 
might  remember  his  kindness  to  him  in 
Venice  ;  and  it  is  well  we  should  take  note  of  it  here,  for  it  fur¬ 
nishes  us  with  a  most  interesting  confirmation  of  what  was  said 
in  the  text  respecting  the  position  of  Bellini  as  the  last  of  the 
religious  painters  of  Venice.  The  following  passage  is  quoted  in 
Jackson’s  ‘‘Essay  on  Wood-engraving,”  from  Albert  Durer’s 
Diary: 

“  I  have  many  good  friends  among  the  Italians  who  warn  me 
not  to  eat  or  drink  with  their  painters,  of  whom  several  are  my 
enemies,  and  copy  my  picture  in  the  church,  and  others  of  mine, 
Avherever  they  can  find  them,  and  yet  they  blame  them,  and  say 
they  are  not  according  to  ancient  art,  and  therefore  not  good. 
Giovanni  Bellini,  however,  has  praised  me  highly  to  several  gen¬ 
tlemen,  and  wishes  to  have  something  of  my  doing  :  he  called  on 
me  himself,  and  requested  that  I  would  paint  a  picture  for  him, 
for  which,  he  said,  he  would  pay  me  well.  People  are  all  sur¬ 
prised  that  I  should  be  so  much  thought  of  by  a  person  of  his 
reputation  :  he  is  very  old,  but  is  still  the  best  painter  of  them 
all.”  • 

A  choice  little  piece  of  description  this,  of  the  Eenaissance 
painters,  side  by  side  with  the  good  old  Venetian,  who  was  soon 
to  leave  them  to  their  own  ways.  The  Eenaissance  men  are  seen 


Turner.  Tintoret. 
Massaccio. 

John  Bellini. 
Albert  Durer. 
Giorgione. 

Paul  Veronese. 
Titian. 

Eubens. 

Correggio. 

Orcagna. 

Benozzo  Gozzoli. 
Giotto. 

Eaffaelle. 

Perugino. 


384  APPEj^Dix,  12. 

in  perfection,  envying,  stealing,  and  lying,  but  without  wit 
enough  to  lie  to  purpose. 

12.  ROMAKIST  MODERN  ART. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance,  in  these  days,  that  Eomanism 
should  be  deprived  of  the  miserable  influence  which  its  pomp  and 
picturesqueness  have  given  it  over  the  weak  sentimentalism  of 
the  English  people ;  I  call  it  a  miserable  influence,  for  of  all 
motives  to  sympathy  with  the  Church  of  Eome,  this  I  unhesita- 
tingly  class  as  the  basest:  I  can,  in  some  measure,  respect  the  other 
feelings  which  have  been  the  beginnings  of  apostasy;  I  can  respect 
the  desire  for  unity  which  would  reclaim  the  Eomanist  by  love, 
and  the  distrust  of  his  own  heart  wdiich  subjects  the  proselyte  to 
priestly  power  ;  I  say  I  can  respect  these  feelings,  though  I  cannot 
pardon  unprincipled  submission  to  them,  nor  enough  wonder  at 
the  inflnite  fatuity  of  the  unhapjiy  persons  whom  they  have  be¬ 
trayed: — Fatuity,  self-inflicted,  and  stubborn  in  resistance  to 
God’s  Word  and  man’s  reason  ! — to  talk  of  the  authority  of  the 
Church,  as  if  the  Church  were  anything  else  than  the  whole 
company  of  Christian  men,  or  were  ever  spoken  of  in  Scripture  * 
as  other  than  a  company  to  be  taught  and  fed,  not  to  teach  and 
feed. — Fatuity  !  to  talk  of  a  separation  of  Church  and  State,  as 
if  a  Christian  state,  and  every  officer  therein,  were  not  necessarily 
a  part  of  the  Church,  f  and  as  if  any  state  officer  could  do  his 
duty  without  endeavoring  to  aid  and  promote  religion,  or  any 
clerical  officer  do  his  duty  without  seeking  for  such  aid  and  ac¬ 
cepting  it : — Fatuity  !  to  seek  for  the  unity  of  a  living  body  of 
truth  and  trust  in  God,  with  a  dead  body  of  lies  and  trust  in 

*  Except  in  the  single  passage  “tell  it  unto  the  Church,”  which  is  simply 
the  of  what  had  been  commanded  before,  i.e.,  tell  the  fault  first 

“  between  thee  and  him,”  then  taking  “  with  thee  one  or  two  more,”  then, 
to  all  Christian  men  capable  of  hearing  the  cause:  if  he  refuse  to  hear  their 
common  voice,  “let  him  be  unto  thee  as  a  heathen  man  and  publican;” 
(But  consider  how  Christ  treated  botli.) 

f  One  or  two  remarks  on  this  subject,  some  of  which  I  had  intended  to 
have  inserted  liere,  and  others  in  Appendix  5,  I  have  arranged  in  more  con¬ 
sistent  order,  and  published  in  a  separate  pamphlet,  “Notes  on  the  Con¬ 
struction  of  Sheep-folds,”  for  the  convenience  of  readers  interested  in  other 
architecture  than  that  of  Venetian  palaces. 


APPENDIX,  13. 


385 


wood,  and  tlietice  to  expect  anything  else  than  plague,  and  con¬ 
sumption  by  worms  undying,  for  both.  Blasphemy  as  well  as 
fatuity  !  to  ask  for  any  better  interpreter  of  God’s  Word  than 
God,  or  to  expect  knovrledge  of  it  in  any  other  way  than  the 
plainly  ordered  way:  if  any  man  will  do  he  shall  know.  But 
of  all  these  fatuities,  the  basest  is  the  being  lured  into  the  Eo- 
manist  Church  by  the  glitter  of  it,  like  larks  into  a  trap  by 
broken  glass  ;  to  be  blown  into  a  change  of  religion  by  the  whine 
of  an  organ-pipe  ;  stitched  into  a  new  creed  by  gold  threads  on 
priests’  petticoats ;  jangled  into  a  change  of  conscience  by  the 
chimes  of  a  belfry.  I  know  nothing  in  the  shape  of  error  so  dark 
as  this,  no  imbecility  so  absolute,  no  treachery  so  contemptible. 
I  had  hardly  believed  that  it  was  a  thing  possible,  though  vague 
stories  had  been  told  me  of  the  effect,  on  some  minds,  of  mere 
scarlet  and  candles,  until  I  came  on  this  passage  in  Pugin’s 
“  Eemarks  on  articles  in  the  Eambler”: — 

‘‘Those  who  have  lived  in  w^ant  and  privation  are  the  best 
qualified  to  appreciate  the  blessings  of  plenty ;  thus,  those  who 
have  been  devout  and  sincere  members  of  the  separated  portion 
of  the  English  Church  ;  wdio  have  prayed,  and  hoped,  and  loved, 
through  all  the  poverty  of  the  maimed  rites  which  it  has  retained 
— to  them  does  the  realisation  of  all  their  longing  desires  appear 
truly  ravishing.  *  *  *  Oh!  then,  what  delight !  wdiat  joy 
unspeakable  !  when  one  of  the  solemn  piles  is  presented  to  them, 
in  all  its  pristine  life  and  glory! — the  stoups  are  filled  to  the 
brim  ;  the  rood  is  raised  on  high  ;  the  screen  glows  with  sacred 
imagery  and  rich  device  ;  the  niches  are  filled  ;  the  altar  is  re¬ 
placed,  sustained  by  sculptured  shafts,  the  relics  of  the  saints 
repose  beneath,  the  body  of  Our  Lord  is  enshrined  on  its, conse¬ 
crated  stone  ;  the  lamps  of  the  sanctuary  burn  bright ;  the 
saintly  portraitures  in  the  glass  windows  shine  all  gloriously  ;  and 
the  albs  hang  in  the  oaken  ambries,  and  the  cope  chests  are 
filled  with  orphreyed  baudekins  ;  and  ])ix  and  pax,  and  chrisma- 
tory  are  there,  and  thurible,  and  cross.” 

One  might  have  put  this  man  under  a  pix,  and  left  him,  one 
should  have  thought ;  but  he  has  been  brought  forward,  and 
partly  received,  as  an  example  of  the  effect  of  ceremonial  splendor 
on  the  mind  of  a  great  architect.  It  is  very  necessary,  therefore, 
that  all  those  who  have  felt  sorrow  at  this  should  know  at  once 


386 


APPENDIX,  12. 


that  he  is  not  a  great  architect,  but  one  of  the  smallest  possible 
or  conceivable  architects;  and  that  by  his  own  account  and 
setting  forth  of  himself.  Hear  him  : — 

“I  believe,  as  regards  architecture,  few  men  have  been  so  un¬ 
fortunate  as  myself.  I  have  passed  my  life  in  thinking  of  fine 
things,  studying  fine  things,  designing  fine  things,  and  realising 
very  poor  ones.  I  have  never  had  the  chance  of  producing  a 
single  fine  ecclesiastical  building,  except  my  own  church,  where  1 
am  both  paymaster  and  architect ;  but  everything  else,  either 
for  want  of  adequate  funds  or  injudicious  interference  and 
control,  or  some  other  contingency,  is  more  or  less  a  fail¬ 
ure.  *  *  ^ 

“  St.  George’s  was  spoilt  by  the  very  instructions  laid  down 
by  the  committee,  that  it  was  to  hold  3000  people  on  the  floor  at 
a  limited  price ;  in  consequence,  height,  proportion,  everything, 
was  sacrificed  to  meet  these  conditions.  Nottingham  was  spoilt  by 
the  style  being  restricted  to  lancet,— a  period  well  suited  to  a 
Cistercian  abbey  in  a  secluded  vale,  but  very  unsuitable  for  the 
centre  of  a  crowded  town.  *  *  * 

“Kirkham  was  spoilt  through  several  hundred  pounds  being 
reduced  on  the  original  estimate  ;  to  effect  this,  which  was  a 
great  sum  in  proportion  to  the  entire  cost,  the  area  of  the  church 
was  contracted,  the  walls  lowered,  tower  and  spire  reduced,  the 
thickness  of  walls  diminished,  and  stone  arches  omitted.”  (Re¬ 
marks,  &c.,  by  A.  Welby  Pugin:  Dolman,  1850.) 

Is  that  so?  Phidias  can  niche  himself  into  the  corner  of  a 
pediment,  and  Raffaelle  expatiate  within  the  circumference  of  a 
clay  platter  ;  but  Pugin  is  inexpressible  in  less  than  a  cathedral  ? 
Let  his  ineftableness  be  assured  of  this,  once  for  all,  that  no  diffi¬ 
culty  or  restraint  ever  happened  to  a  man  of  real  power,  but  his 
power  was  the  more  manifested  in  the  contending  with,  or  con-i 
queiing  it ;  and  that  there  is  no  field  so  small,  no  cranny  so  con¬ 
tracted,  but  that  a  great  spirit  can  house  and  manifest  itself 
theiein.  The  thunder  that  smites  the  Alp  into  dust,  can  gather 
itself  into  the  width  of  a  golden  wire.  Whatever  greatness  there 
was  in  you,  had  it  been  Buonarroti’s  own,  you  had  room  enough 
for  it  in  a  single  niche  :  you  might  have  put  the  whole  power  of 
it  into  two  feet  cube  of  Caen  stone.  St.  George’s  was  not  high 
enough  for  want  of  money  ?  But  was  it  want  of  money  that 


APPENDIX,  12. 


387 


made  you  put  that  blunt,  overloaded,  laborious  ogee  door  into 
tiie  side  of  it?  Was  it  for  lack  of  funds  that  you  sunk  the  tracery 
of  the  parapet  in  its  clumsy  zigzags?  Was  it  in  parsimony  that 
you  buried  its  paltry  pinnacles  in  that  eruption  of  diseased 
crockets  ?  or  in  pecuniary  embarrassment  that  you  set  up  the 
belfry  foolscaps,  with  the  mimicry  of  dormer  windows,  which' 
nobody  can  ever  reach  nor  look  out  of  ?  Not  so,  but  in  mere  in¬ 
capability  of  better  things. 

I  am  sorry  to  have  to  speak  thus  of  any  living  architect ;  and 
there  is  much  in  this  man,  if  he  were  rightly  estimated,  which 
one  might  both  regard  and  profit  by.  He  has  a  most  sincere 
love  for  his  profession,  a  heartily  honest  enthusiasm  for  pixes 
and  piscinas  ;  and  though  he  will  never  design  so  much  as  a  pix 
or  a  piscina  thoroughly  well,  yet  better  than  most  of  the  experi¬ 
mental  architects  of  the  day.  Em])loy  him  by  all  means,  but  on 
small  work.  Expect  no  cathedrals  from  him  ;  but  no  one,  at 
present,  can  design  a  better  finial.  That  is  an  exceedingly  beau¬ 
tiful  one  over  the  western  door  of  St.  George's ;  and  there  is 
some  spirited  impishness  and  SAvitching  of  tails  in  the  supporting 
figures  at  the  imposts.  Only  do  not  allow  his  good  designing  of 
finials  to  be  employed  as  an  evidence  in  matters  of  diA'inity,  nor 
thence  deduce  the  incompatibility  of  Protestantism  and  art.  I 
should  haA’e  said  all  that  I  have  said  above,  of  artistical  apostasy, 
if  Giotto  had  been  now  living  in  Florence,  and  if  art  were  still 
doing  all  that  it  did  once  for  Eome.  But  the  grossness  of  the 
error  becomes  incomprehensible  as  well  as  unpardonable,  when 
we  look  to  what  level  of  degi’adation  the  human  intellect  has 
sunk  at  this  instant  in  Italy.  So  far  from  Eomanism  now  pro¬ 
ducing  anything  greater  in  art,  it  cannot  even  preserve  what  has 
been  giA’en  to  its  keeping.  I  knoAv  no  abuses  of  jirecious  inheri¬ 
tance  half  so  grievous,  as  the  abuse  of  all  that  is  best  in  art 
Avherever  the  Romanist  priesthood  gets  possession  of  it.  It 
amounts  to  absolute  infatuation.  The  noblest  pieces  of  mediaeval 
sculpture  in  North  Italy,  the  two  griffins  at  the  central  (Avest) 
door  of  the  cathedral  of  Verona, Avere  daily  permitted  to  be  brought 
into  service,  when  I  was  there  in  the  autumn  of  1849,  oy  a 
AA^asherwoman  living  in  the  Piazza,  Avho  tied  her  clothes-lines  to 
their  beaks  ;  and  the  sliafts  of  St.  Mark’s  at  Venice  Avere  used’ 
by  a  salesman  of  common  caricatures  to  fasten  his  prints  upon 


388 


APPEJTDIX,  13. 


(Compare  Appendix  25);  and  tliis  in  the  face  of  the  continually 
passing  priests  :  while  the  quantity  of  noble  art  annually  de¬ 
stroyed  in  altarpieces  by  candle-drojipings,  or  iierishing  by  pure 
brutality  of  neglect,  passes  all  estimate.  I  do  not  know,  as  I 
have  repeatedly  stated,  how  far  the  splendor  of  architecture,  or 
other  art,  is  compatible  with  the  honesty  and  usefulness  of  re¬ 
ligious  service.  The  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  incline  to  severe 
jndgmenr  in  this  matter,  and  the  less  I  can  trust  the  sentiments 
excited  by  painted  glass  and  colored  tiles.  But  if  there  be  in¬ 
deed  value  in  such  things,  our  plain  duty  is  to  direct  our  strength 
against  the  superstition  which  has  dishonored  them ;  there  are 
thousands  who  might  possibly  be  benefited  by  them,  to  whom 
they  are  now  merely  an  offence,  owing  to  their  association  with 
idolatrous  ceremonies.  I  have  but  this  exhortation  for  all  who 
love  them,— not  to  regulate  their  creeds  by  their  taste  in  colors, 
but  to  hold  calmly  to  the  right,  at  whatever  present  cost  to  their 
imaginative  enjoyment  ;  sure  that  they  will  one  day  find  in 
hea\enly  truth  a  brighter  charm  than  in  earthly  imagerv,  and 
striving  to  gather  stones  for  the  eternal  building,  whose  walls 
shall  be  salvation,  and  whose  gates  shall  be  praise. 

13.  ME.  FERGUSSOX’S  SYSTEM. 

The  reader  may  at  first  suppose  this  division  of  the  attributes  of 
buildings  into  action,  voice,  and  beauty,  to  be  the  same  division 
as  Mr.  Fergusson’s,  now  well  known,  of  their  merits,  into  tech¬ 
nic,  aesthetic  and  phonetic. 

But  there  is  no  connection  between  the  two  systems;  mine, 
indeed,  does  not  profess  to  be  a  system,  it  is  a  mere  arrangement 
of  my  subject,  for  the  sake  of  order  and  convenience  in  its  treat¬ 
ment:  but,  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  differs  altogether  from  Mr.  Fer- 
/gusson’s  in  these  two  following  respects: — 

The  action  of  a  building,  that  is  to  say  its  standing  or  con¬ 
sistence,  depends  on  its  good  construction;  and  the  first  part 
of  the  foregoing  volume  has  been  entirely  occupied  with  the  con¬ 
sideration  of  the  constructive  merit  of  buildings:  but  construc¬ 
tion  is  not  their  only  technical  merit.  There  is  as  much  of 
technical  merit  in  their  expression,  or  in  their  beauty,  as  in 
".heir  construction.  There  is  no  more  mechanical  or  technical 


APPENDIX,  ]3. 


389 


fldmiiciblGDGSs  iu  tliG  stroke  of  tlie  paiiitor  wlio  covers  thern.  witli 
fresco,  than  in  the  dexterity  of  the  mason  who  cements  their 
stones  :  there  is  just  as  much  of  what  is  technical  in  their  beauty, 
therefore,  as  in  their  construction;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  there 
is  often  just  as  much  intellect  shown  in  their  construction  as 
there  is  in  either  their  expression  or  decoration.  Now  Mr. 
Fergusson  means  by  his  “  Phonetic”  division,  whatever  expresses 
intellect  :  my  constructive  division,  therefore,  includes  part  of 
his  phonetic  :  and  my  expressive  and  decorative  divisions  include 
part  of  his  technical. 

Secondly,  Mr.  Fergusson  tries  to  make  the  same  divisions  fit 
the  subjects  of  art,  and  art  itself  ;  and  therefore  talks  of  technic, 
{esthetic,  and  phonetic,  arts,  (or,  translating  the  Greek,)  of  art¬ 
ful  arts,  sensitive  arts,  and  talkative  arts  ;  but  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  any  division  of  the  arts,  I  have  to  deal  only  with  the 
merits  of  buildings.  As,  however,  I  have  been  led  into  reference 
to  Mr.  Fergussoii’s  system,  I  would  fain  say  a  word  or  two  to 
effect  Mr.  Fergusson’s  extrication  from  it.  I  hope  to  find  in  him 
a  noble  ally,  ready  to  joinwuth  me  in  war  upon  affectation,  false¬ 
hood,  and  prejudice,  of  every  kind:  I  have  derived  much  instruc¬ 
tion  from  his  most  interesting  work,  and  I  hope  for  much  more 
from  its  continuation;  but  he  must  disentangle  himself  from  his 
system,  or  he  Avill  be  strangled  by  it ;  never  was  anything  so  in¬ 
geniously  and  hopelessly  wrong  throughout;  the  vvdiole  of  it  is 
founded  on  a  confusion  of  the  instruments  of  man  with  his  ca¬ 
pacities. 

IMr.  Fergusson  wmuld  have  us  take — 

First,  man’s  muscular  action  or  power.”  (Technics.) 
Secondly,  those  developments  of  sense  by  Avhich  he  does!  ! 
as  much  as  by  his  muscles.”  (^Esthetics.) 

“  Lastly,  his  intellect,  or  to  confine  this  more  correctly  to  its 
external  action,  his  power  of  speech  !  I  !  ”  (Phonetics.) 

Granting  this  division  of  humanity  correct,  or  sufficient,  the 
writer  then  most  curiously  supposes  that  he  may  arrange  the  arts 
as  if  there  were  some  belonging  to  each  division  of  man, — never 
observing  that  every  art  must  be  governed  by,  and  addressed  to, 
one  division,  and  executed  by  another  ;  executed  by  the  muscu¬ 
lar,  addressed  to  the  sensitive  or  intellectual;  and  that,  to  be  an 
art  at  all,  it  must  have  in  it  wmrk  of  the  one,  and  guidance  from 


390 


APPENDIX,  13. 


the  other.  If,  by  any  lucky  accident,  he  had  been  led  to  arrange 
the  arts,  either  by  their  objects,  and  the  things  to  which  they 
are  addressed,  or  by  their  means,  and  the  things  by  which  they 
are  executed,  he  would  have  discovered  his  mistake  in  an  instant. 

As  thus  : — 

These  arts  are  addressed  to  the, — Muscles  !  ! 

Senses, 

Intellect ; 

or  executed  by, — Muscles, 

Senses  ! ! 

Intellect. 

Indeed  it  is  true  that  some  of  the  arts  are  in  a  sort  addressed  to 
the  muscles,  surgery  for  instance ;  but  this  is  not  among  Mr. 
Fergussou’s  technic,  but  his  politic,  arts  !  and  all  the  arts  may, 
in  a  sort,  be  said  to  be  performed  by  the  senses,  as  the  senses  guide 
both  muscles  and  intellect  in  their  work  :  but  they  guide  them 
as  they  receive  information,  or  are  standards  of  accuracy,  but 
not  as  in  themselves  capable  of  action.  Mr.  Fergusson  is,  I  be¬ 
lieve,  the  first  person  who  has  told  us  of  senses  that  act  or  do,  they 
having  been  hitherto  supposed  only  to  sustain  or  perceive.  The 
weight  of  error,  however,  rests  just  as  much  in  the  original  divi¬ 
sion  of  man,  as  in  the  endeavor  to  fit  the  arts  to  it.  The  slight 
omission  of  the  soul  makes  a  considerable  difference  when  it 
begins  to  influence  the  final  results  of  the  arrangement. 

Mr.  Fergusson  calls  morals  and  religion  ‘^Politick  arts”  (as  if 
religion  were  an  art  at  all!  or  as  if  both  Avere  not  as  necessary  to 
individuals  as  to  societies);  and  therefore,  forming  these  into  a 
body  of  arts  by  themselves,  leaves  the  best  of  the  arts  to  do  with¬ 
out  the  soul  and  the  moral  feeling  as  rest  they  may.  Hence 
“expression,”  or  “phonetics,”  is  of  intellect  only  (as  if  men 
never  expressed  i\\e\v  feelings  !)-,  and  then,  strangest  and  Avorst 
of  all,  intellect  is  entirely  resolved  into  talking  !  There  can  be 
no  intellect  but  it  must  talk,  and  all  talking  must  be  intellectual. 

I  believe  people  do  sometimes  talk  Avithout  understanding;  and  I 
think  the  Avorld  would  fare  ill  if  they  never  understood  Avithout 
talking.  The  intellect  is  an  entirely  silent  faculty,  and  has  noth¬ 
ing  to  do  v/ith  parts  of  speech  anymore  than  the  moral  part  has.  • 
A  man  may  feel  and  know  things  Avithout  expressing  either  the 
feeling  or  knoAvledge  ;  and  the  talking  is  a  muscular  mode  of  1 


APPEJSTDIX,  13. 


301 


communicating  tlie  workings  of  the  intellect  or  heart  • — muscu¬ 
lar,  whether  it  be  by  tongue  or  by  sign,  or  by  carving  or  writiug, 
or  by  expression  of  feature  ;  so  that  to  divide  a  man  into  muscu¬ 
lar  and  talking  parts,  is  to  divide  him  into  body  in  general,  and 
Tongue  in  particular,  the  endless  confusion  resulting  from  wdiich 
arrangement  is  only  less  marvellous  in  itself,  than  the  resolution 
(with  which  Mr.  Fergusson  has  worked  through  it,  and  in  spite 
of  it,  up  to  some  very  interesting  and  suggestive  truths ;  although 
starting  with  a  division  of  humanity  which  does  not  in  the  least 
^  raise  it  above  the  brute,  for  a  rattlesnake  has  his  muscular,  Eesthe- 
tic,  and  talking  part  as  much  as  man,  only  he  talks  with  his  tail, 
and  says,  “I  am  angry  with  you,  and  should  like  to  bite  you,” 
more  laconically  and  eft’ectively  than  any  phonetic  biped  could, 
were  he  so  minded.  And,  in  fact,  the  real  difference  between 
the  brute  and  man  is  not  so  much  that  the  one  has  fewer  means 
of  expression  than  the  other,  as  that  it  has  fewer  thoughts  to  ex¬ 
press,  and  that  we  do  not  understand  its  expressions.  Animals 
can  talk  to  one  another  intelligibly  enough  when  they  have  any¬ 
thing  to  say,  and  their  captains  have  words  of  command  just  as 
clear  as  ours,  and  better  obeyed.  We  have  indeed,  in  watching 
the  efforts  of  an  intelligent  animal  to  talk  to  a  human  being,  a 
melancholy  sense  of  its  dumbness  ;  but  the  fault  is  still  in  its  in¬ 
telligence,  more  than  in  its  tongue.  It  has  not  wit  enough  to 
systematise  its  cries  or  signs,  and  form  them  into  language. 

But  there  is  no  end  to  the  fallacies  and  confusions  of  Mr. 
Fergusson’s  arrangement.  It  is  a  perfect  entanglement  of  gun¬ 
cotton,  and  explodes  into  vacuity  wherever  one  holds  a  light  to 
it.  I  shall  leave  him  to  do  so  with  the  rest  of  it  for  himself,  and 
should  perhaps  have  left  it  to  his  own  handling  altogether,  but  for 
the  intemperateness  of  the  spirit  Avith  which  he  has  spoken  on  a 
subject  perhaps  of  all  others  demanding  gentleness  and  caution. 
.N’o  man  could  more  earnestly  have  desired  the  changes  lately  in¬ 
troduced  into  the  system  of  the  UniA’ersity  of  Oxford  than  I  did 
myself  :  no  man  can  be  more  deeply  sensible  than  I  of  grievous 
failures  in  the  practical  working  even  of  the  present  sj^stem;  but 
I  believe  that  these  failures  may  be  almost  without  exception 
traced  to  one  source,  the  want  of  oA'angelical,  and  the  excess  of 
rubrical  religion  among  the  tutors;  together  A\dth  such  rusti¬ 
nesses  and  stiffnesses  as  necessarily  attend  the  contijiual  opera- 


302' 


APPENDIX,  13. 


tion  of  uiiy  iiitellGctiial  macliinc.  TIig  fault  is,  at  any  rat©,  far 
less  in  the  system  than  in  the  imperfection  of  its  administration; 
and  had  it  been  otherwise,  the  terms  in  which  Mr.  Fergusson 
speaks  of  it  are  hardly  decorous  in  one  who  can  but  be  im])er- 
fectly  accpiainted  with  its  working.  They  are  sufficiently  an¬ 
swered  by  the  structure  of  the  essay  in  which  they  occur;  for  if 
the  high  powers  of  mind  which  its  author  possesses  had  been 
subjected  to  the  discipline  of  the  schools,  he  could  not  have 
wasted  his  time  on  the  development  of  a  system  wdiich  their  sim¬ 
plest  formula3  of  logic  w'ould  have  shown  him  to  be  untenable. 

Mr.  Fergusson  wdll,  ho^\'ever,  find  it  easier  to  overthrow  his 
system  than  to  replace  it.  Every  man  of  science  knows  the  diffi- 
culty  of  arianging  a  i  C(ison(ibJ6  system  of  classification,  in  any 
subject,  by  any  one  group  of  characters ;  and  that  tlie  best  classi¬ 
fications  are,  in  many  of  tlieir  branches,  convenient  rather  than 
reasonable:  so  that,  to  any  j^erson  who  is  really  niaster  of  his 
subject,  many  different  modes  of  classification  will  occur  at  dif- 
feient  times  ;  one  of  which  he  will  use  rather  than  another,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  point  which  he  has  to  investigate.  I  need  only 
instance  the  three  arrangements  of  minerals,  by  their  external 
characteis,  and  their  positive  or  negative  bases,  of  'which  the  first 
is  the  most  useful,  the  second  the  most  natural,  the  third  the 
most  simple;  and  all  in  several  ways  unsatisfactory. 

But  when  the  subject  becomes  one  which  no  single  mind  can 
grasp,  and  wdiich  embraces  tlie  whole  range  of  human  occupation 
and  enquiry,  the  difficulties  become  as  great,  and  the  methods  as 
various,  as  the  uses  to  wdiicli  the  classification  might  be  put ;  and 
Mr.  Fergusson  has  entirely  forgotten  to  inform  us  wliat  is  the 
object  to  whicli  his  arrangements  are  addressed.  For  observe  : 
tliere  is  one  kind  of  arrangement  which  is  based  on  the  rational 
connection  of  the  sciences  or  arts  with  one  another ;  an  arrange¬ 
ment  which  maps  them  out  like  the  rivers  of  some  great  countrv, 
and  marks  the  points  of  tlieir  junction,  and  the  direction  and 
force  of  their  united  currents ;  and  this  witliout  assigning  to  any 
one  of  them  a  superiority  above  anotlier,  but  considering  tliem 
all  as  necessary  members  of  the  noble  unity  of  human  science 
and  effort.  There  is  another  kind  of  classification  which  contem- 
i'-lates  the  order  of  succession  in  which  they  might  most  usefully  be 
presented  to  a  single  mind,  so  that  the  given  mind  should  obtain 


APPENDIX,  13. 


393 


the  most  effective  and  available  knowledge  of  them  all:  and, 
finally,  the  most  usual  classification  contemplates  the  powers  of 
mind  which  they  each  require  for  their  pursuit,  the  objects  to 
which  they  are  addressed,  or  with  which  they  are  concerned;  and 
assigns  to  each  of  them  a  rank  superior  or  inferior,  according  to 
the  nobility  of  the  powers  they  require,  or  the  grandeur  of  the 
subjects  they  contemplate. 

blow,  not  only  would  it  be  necessary  to  adopt  a  different 
classification  with  respect  to  each  of  these  great  intentions,  but 
it  might  be  found  so  even  to  vary  the  order  of  the  succession 
of  sciences  in  the  case  of  every  several  mind  to  which  they  were 
addiessed;  and  that  their  rank  would  also  vary  with  the  power 
and  specific  character  of  the  mind  engaged  u23on  them.  I  once 
heard  a  very  profound  mathematician  remonstrate  against  the 
impropriety  of  ordsworth’s  receiving  a  pension  from  govern¬ 
ment,  on  the  ground  that  he  was  “only  a  poet.”  If  the  study 
of  mathematics  had  always  this  narrowing  effect  upon  the  sympa¬ 
thies,  the  science  itself  would  need  to  be  deprived  of  the  rank 
usually  assigned  to  it;  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that,  in  the 
effect  it  had  on  the  mind  of  this  man,  and  of  such  others,  it  was 
a  very  contemptible  science  indeed.  Hence,  in  estimating  the 
leal  rank  of  any  art  or  science,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  conceive 
It  as  it  would  be  grasped  by  minds  of  every  order.  There  are 
some  arts  and  sciences  which  we  underrate,  because  no  one  has 
risen  to  show  us  with  what  majesty  they  may  be  invested  ;  and 
others  wliich  we  overrate,  because  we  are  blinded  to  their  general 
meanness  by  the  magnificence  which  some  one  man  has  thrown 
around  them:  thus,  philology,  evidently  the  most  contemjitible 
of  all  the  sciences,  has  been  raised  to  unjust  dignity  by  Johnson.* 
And  the  subject  is  farther  complicated  by  the  question  of  useful¬ 
ness;  for  many  of  the  arts  and  sciences  require  considerable  in¬ 
tellectual  power  for  their  pursuit,  and  yet  become  contemptible 
by  the  slightness  of  what  they  accomiJish :  metaphysics,- for  in¬ 
stance,  exercising  intelligence  of  a  high  order,  yet  useless  to  the 
mass  of  mankind,  and,  to  its  own  masters,  dangerous.  Yet,  as  it  has 

*  Not,  liowever,  b.y  Johnson’s  testimony:  Vide  Adventurer,  No.  39. 

“  Such  operations  as  required  neither  celerit)^  nor  strength, — the  low  drudg- 
er}  of  collating  copies,  comparing  authorities,  digesting  dictionaries,  or  ac¬ 
cumulating  compilations.” 


394 


APPENDIX,  14. 


become  so  by  the  want  of  the  true  intelligence  which  its  inquii  ies 
need,  and  by  substitution  of  vain  subtleties  in  its  stead,  it  may 
in  future  vindicate  for  itself  a  higher  rank  than  a  man  of  com¬ 
mon  sense  usually  concedes  to  it. 

Nevertheless,  the  mere  attempt  at  arrangement  must  be  use¬ 
ful,  even  where  it  does  nothing  more  than  develop  difficulties. 
Perhaps  the  greatest  fault  of  men  of  learning  is  their  so  often 
supposing  all  other  branches  of  science  dependent  upon  or  inferior 
to  their  own  best  beloved  branch  ;  and  the  greatest  deficiency  of 
men  comparatively  unlearned,  their  want  of  perception  of  the 
connection  of  the  branches  with  each  other.  He  w'ho  holds  the 
tree  only  by  the  extremities,  can  perceive  nothing  but  the  separa¬ 
tion  of  its  sj^rays.  It  must  always  be  desirable  to  prove  to 
those  the  equality  of  rank,  to  these  the  closeness  of  sequence,  of 
what  they  had  falsely  supposed  subordinate  or  separate.  And, 
after  such  candid  admission  of  the  co-equal  dignity  of  the  truly 
noble  arts  and  sciences,  w^e  may  be  enabled  more  justly  to  esti¬ 
mate  the  inferiority  of  those  which  indeed  seem  intended  for 
the  occupation  of  inferior  powers  and  narrower  capacities.  In 
Appendix  14,  following,  some  suggestions  wdll  be  found  as  to 
the  principles  on  which  classification  might  be  based  ;  but  the 
arrangement  of  all  the  arts  is  certainly  not  a  work  which  could 
with  discretion  be  attempted  in  the  Appendix  to  an  essay  on  a 
branch  of  one  of  them. 

14.  DIYISIOXS  OF  HUMANITY. 

The  reader  will  jirobably  understand  this  part  of  the  subject 
better  if  he  will  take  the  trouble  briefly  to  consider  the  actions 
of  the  mind  and  body  of  man  in  the  scienees  and  arts,  which 
give  these  latter  the  relations  of  rank  usually  attributed  to  them. 

It  was  above  observed  (Appendix  13)  that  the  arts  were 
generally  ranked  according  to  the  nobility  of  the  powers  they 
require,  that  is  to  say,  the  quantity  of  the  being  of  man  which 
they  engaged  or  addressed.  Now  their  rank  is  not  a  very  im¬ 
portant  matter  as  regards  each  other,  for  there  are  few  disputes 
more  futile  than  that  concerning  the  resjiective  dignity  of  arts, 
all  of  which  are  necessary  and  honorable.  But  it  is  a  very  im¬ 
portant  matter  as  regards  themselves  ;  very  imiiortant  whether 


APPENDIX,  14. 


395 


they  are  practised  Mdth  the  devotion  and  regarded  with  the  re¬ 
spect  which  are  necessary  or  due  to  their  perfection.  It  does  not 
at  all  matter  whether  architecture  or  sculpture  be  the  nobler  art; 
but  it  matters  much  whether  the  thought  is  bestowed  upon  build¬ 
ings,  or  tlie  feeling  is  expressed  in  statues,  which  make  either 
deserving  of  our  admiration.  It  is  foolish  and  insolent  to  imagine 
that  the  art  which  we  ourselves  practise  is  greater  than  any  other; 
hut  it  is  wise  to  take  care  that  in  our  own  hands  it  is  as  noble  as 
we  can  make  it.  Let  us  take  some  notice,  therefore,  in  what 
degrees  the  faculties  of  man  may  be  engaged  in  his  several  arts: 
we  may  consider  the  entire  man  as  made  up  of  body,  soul,  and 
intellect  (Lord  Lindsay,  meaning  the  same  thing,  says  inaccurate¬ 
ly— sense,  intellect,  and  spirit— forgetting  tliat  there  is  a  moral 
sense  as  well  as  a  bodily  sense,  and  a  sjiiritual  body  as  well  as  a 
natural  body,  and  so  gets  into  some  awkward  confusion,  though 
right  in  the  main  points).  Then,  tdking  the  word  soul  as  a 
short  expression  of  the  moral  and  responsible  part  of  being,  each 
^  of  these  three  parts  has  a  passive  and  active  power.  The  body 
has  senses  and  muscles;  the  soul,  feeling  and  resolution;  the 
intelleet,  understanding  and  imagination.  The  scheme  may  be 
put  into  tabular  form,  thus: — 

Passive  or  Receptive  Part.  Active  or  Motive  Part.- 
Body  -  -  -  Senses.  Muscles. 

.  Feeling.  Eesolution. 

Intellect  -  -  -  Understanding.  Imagination. 

In  this  scheme  I  consider  memory  a  part  of  understanding,  and 
conscience  I  leave  out,  as  being  the  voice  of  God  in  tlie  heart, 
inseparable  from  the  system,  yet  notan  essential  part  of  it.  The 

sense  of  beauty  I  consider  a  mixture  of  the  Senses  of  the  body 
and  soul. 

Xow  all  these  parts  of  the  human  system  have  a  reciprocal 
action  on  one  another,  so  that  the  true  perfection  of  any  of  tliem 
is  not  possible  without  some  relative  perfection  of  the  others,  and 
yet  any  one  of  the  parts  of  the  system  may  be  brought  into  a 
morbid  development,  inconsistent  with  the  perfection  of  the 
others.  Thus,  in  a  healthy  state,  the  acuteness  of  the  senses 
quickens  that  of  the  feelings,  and  these  latter  quicken  the  un- 


396 


APPENDIX,  14. 


•  • 

derstandmg,  and  then  all  the  three  quicken  the  imagination,  and 
then  all  the  four  strengthen  the  resolution;  while  yet  there  is  a 
danger,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  encouraged  and  morbid  feel¬ 
ing  may  weaken  or  bias  the  understanding,  or  that  the  over 
shrewd  and  keen  understanding  may  shorten  the  imagination,  or 
that  the  understanding  and  imagination  together  may  take  place 
of,  or  undermine,  the  I’esolution,  as  in  Hamlet.  So  in  the  mere 
bodily  frame  there  is  a  delightful  perfection  of  the  senses,  con¬ 
sistent  with  the  utmost  health  of  the  muscular  system,  as  in  the 
quick  sight  and  hearing  of  an  active  savage:  another  false  deli¬ 
cacy  of  the  senses,  in  the  Sybarite,  consequent  on  their  over  in¬ 
dulgence,  until  the  doubled  rose-leaf  is  painful;  and  this  inconsist¬ 
ent  with  muscular  perfection.  Again;  there  is  a  perfection  of 
muscular  action  consistent  with  exquisite  sense,  as  in  that  of  the 
fingers  of  a  musician  or  of  a  painter,  in  which  the  muscles  are 
guided  by  the  slightest  feeling  of  the  strings,  or  of  the  pencil: 
another  perfection  of  muscular  action  inconsistent  with  acute¬ 
ness  of  sense,  as  in  the  effort  of  battle,  in  which  a  soldier  does  not 
perceive  his  wounds.  So  that  it  is  never  so  much  the  question, 
what  is  the  solitary  perfection  of  a  given  part  of  the  man,  as 
what  is  its  balanced  perfection  in  relation  to  the  whole  of  him: 
and  again,  the  perfection  of  any  single  power  is  not  merely  to 
be  valued  by  the  mere  rank  of  the  j)Ower  itself,  but  by  the  har¬ 
mony  which  it  indicates  among  the  other  powers.  Thus,  for 
instance,  in  an  archer’s  glance  along  his  arrow,  or  a  hunter’s 
raising  of  his  rifle,  there  is  a  certain  perfection  of  sense  and 
finger  which  is  the  result  of  mere  practice,  of  a  simple  bodily 
perfection;  but  there  is  a  farther  value  in  the  habit  which  results 
from  the  resolution  and  intellect  necessary  to  the  forming  of  it: 
in  the  hunter’s  raising  of  his  rifle  there  is  a  quietness  implying 
far  more  than  mere  practice, — implying  courage,  and  habitual 
meeting  of  danger,  and  presence  of  mind,  and  many  other  such 
noble  characters.  So  also  in  a  musician’s  way  of  laying  finger  on 
his  instrument,  or  a  painter’s  handling  of  his  pencil,  there  are 
many  qualities  expressive  of  the  special  sensibilities  of  each, 
operating  on  the  production  of  the  habit,  besides  the  sensibility 
operating  at  the  moment  of  action.  So  that  there  are  throe  dis¬ 
tinct  stages  of  merit  in  what  is  commonly  called  mere  bodily 
dexterity:  the  first,  the  dexterity  given  by  practice,  called  com- 


APPEJs^DIX,  14. 


397 


mand  of  tools  or  of  weapons;  the  second  stage,  the  dexterity  or 
grace  given  by  character,  as  the  gentleness  of  hand  proceeding 
rom  modesty  or  tenderness  of  spirit,  and  the  steadiness  of  it 
resnlting  from  habitual  patience  coupled  with  decision,  and  the 
thousand  other  characters  partially  discernible,  even  in  a  man’s 
writing,  much  more  in  his  general  handiwork;  and,  thirdly,  there 
IS  the  perfection  of  action  produced  by  the  operation  of  present 
stiength  feeling,  or  intelligence  on  instruments  thus  previously 
perfected,  as  the  handling  of  a  great  painter  is  rendered  more 
^  eau  1  u  oy  his  immediate  care  and  feeling  and  love  of  his  sub¬ 
ject,  or  knowledge  of  it,  and  as  physical  strength  is  increased  by 
strengUi  of  will_  and  greatness  of  heart.  Imagine,  for  instance, 
le  difference  m  manner  of  fighting,  and  in  actual  muscular 
strength  and  endurance,  between  a  common  soldier,  and  a  man 

m  the  circumstances  of  the  Horatii,  or  of  the  temper  of  Leoni¬ 
das. 

Mere  physical  skill,  therefore,  the  mere  perfection  and  power 
of  the  body  as  an  instrument,  is  manifested  in  three  stages: 


First,  Bodily  power  by  practice; 

Secondly,  Bodily  power  by  moral  habit; 
Thiidly,  Bodily  power  by  immediate  energy  ; 


and  the  arts  will  be  greater  or  less,  ceteris  paribus,  according  to 
the  degrees  of  these  dexterities  which  they  admit.  A  smith’s 
work  at  his  anvil  admits  little  but  the  first;  fencing,  shooting, 
and  riding,  admit  something  of  the  second;  while  the  fine  arts 
admit  (merely  through  the  channel  of  the  bodly  dexterities)  an 
exjnession  almost  of  the  whole  man. 

Nevertheless,  though  the  higher  arts  admit  this  higher  bodily 
perfection,  they  do  not  ol\  require  it  in  equal  degrees,  but  can 
-dispense  with  it  more  and  more  in  proportion  to  their  dignity. 

I  The  arts  whose  chief  element  is  bodily  dexterity,  may  be  classed 
.together  as  arts  of  the  third  order,  of  which  the  highest  will  be 
those  which  admit  most  of  the  power  of  moral  habit  and  energy, 
such  as  riding  and  the  management  of  weapons;  and  the  rest  may 
be  thrown  together  under  the  general  title  of  handicrafts,  of 
which  it  does  not  much  matter  which  are  the  most  honorable, 
but  rather,  which  are  the  most  neeessary  and  least  injurious  to 


898 


APPEKDIX,  14. 


healtli,  which  it  is  not  our  present  business  to  examine.  Men 
engaged  in  the  practice  of  these  are  calld  artizans,  as  opposed 
to  artists,  who  are  concerned  with  the  fine  arts. 

The  next  step  in  elevation  of  art  is  the  addition  of  the  intelli¬ 
gences  which  have  no  connection  with  bodily  dexterity ;  as,  for 
instance,  in  hunting,  the  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  animals 
and  their  places  of  abode  ;  in  architecture,  of  mathematics  ;  in 
painting,  of  harmonies  of  color  ;  in  music,  of  those  of  sound  ;  all 
this  pure  science  being  joined  with  readiness  of  expedient  in 
applying  it,  and  with  shrewdness  in  apprehension  of  difficulties, 
either  present  or  probable. 

It  will  often  happen  that  intelligence  of  this  kind  is  possessed 
without  bodily  dexterity,  or  the  need  of  it ;  one  man  directing 
and  another  executing,  as  for  the  most  part  in  architecture,  war, 
and  seamanship.  And  it  is  to  be  observed,  also,  that  in  propor¬ 
tion  to  the  dignity  of  the  art,  the  bodily  dexterities  needed  even 
in  its  subordinate  agents  become  less  important,  and  are  more 
and  more  replaced  by  intelligence  ;  as  in  the  steering  of  a  shi]!, 
the  bodily  dexterity  required  is  less  than  in  shooting  or  fencing, 
but  the  intelligence  far  greater  :  and  so  in  war,  the  mere  swords¬ 
manship  and  marksmanship  of  the  troops  are  of  small  importance 
in  comparison  with  their  disposition,  and  right  choice  of  the 
moment  of  action.  So  that  arts  of  this  second  order  must  be 
estimated,  not  by  the  quantity  of  bodily  dexterity  they  require, 
but  by  the  quantity  and  dignity  of  the  knowledge  needed  in  their 
practice,  and  by  the  degree  of  subtlety  needed  in  bringing  such 
knowledge  into  play.  War  certainly  stands  first  in  the  general 
mind,  not  only  as  the  greatest  of  the  arts  which  I  have  called  of 
the  second  order,  but  as  the  greatest  of  all  arts.  It  is  not,  how- 
-ever,  easy  to  distinguish  the  respect  paid  to  the  Power,  from 
that  rendered  to  the  Art  of  the  soldier ;  the  honor  of  victory 
being  more  dependent,  in  the  vulgar  mind,  on  its  results,  than 
its  difficulties.  I  believe,  how^ever,  that  taking  into  considera¬ 
tion  the  greatness  of  the  anxieties  under  which  this  art  must  be 
practised,  the  multitude  of  cirenmstances  to  be  known  and  re¬ 
garded  in  it,  and  the  subtleties  both  of  apprehension  and  strata¬ 
gem  constantly  demanded  by  it,  as  well  as  the  multiplicity  of 
disturbing  accidents  and  doubtful  contingencies  against  which  it 
must  make  provision  on  the  instant,  it  must  indeed  rank  as  far 


APPENDIX,  15. 


399 


the  first  of  the  arts  of  the  second  order ;  and  next  to  this  great 
art  of  killing,  medicine  being  mnch  like  war  in  its  stratagems 
j  and  watchings  against  its  dark  and  subtle  death-enemy. 

Then  the  arts  of  the  first  order  will  be  those  in  which  the 
Imaginatiye  part  of  the  intellect  and  the  Sensitive  part  of  the 
soul  are  joined:  as  poetry,  architecture,  and  painting;  these 
forming  a  kind  of  cross,  in  their  part  of  the  scheme  of  the  human 
being,  with  those  of  the  second  order,  which  wed  the  Intelligent 
part  of  the  intellect  and  Eesolnte  part  of  the  soul.  But  the 
reader  must  feel  more  and  more,  at  every  step,  the  impossibility 
of  classing  the  arts  themselves,  independently  of  the  men  by 
whom  they  are  practised ;  and  how  an  art,  low  in  itself,  may 
be  made  noble  by  the  quantity  of  human  strength  and  being 
which  a  great  man  will  pour  into  it ;  and  an  art,  great  in  itself, 
be  made  mean  by  the  meanness  of  the  mind  occupied  in  it.  I  do 
not  intend,  when  I  call  painting  an  art  of  the  first,  and  war  an  art 
of  the  second,  order,  to  class  Dutch  landscape  painters  with  good 
soldiers ;  but  I  mean,  that  if  from  such  a  man  as  Napoleon  we 
were  to  take  away  the  honor  of  all  that  he  had  done  in  law  and 
civil  government,  and  to  give  him  the  reputation  of  his  soldier¬ 
ship  only,  his  name  would  be  less,  if  justly  weighed,  than  that 
of  Buonarroti,  himself  a  good  soldier  also,  when  need  was.  But 
I  will  not  endeavor  to  pursue  the  inquiry,  for  I  believe  that  of  all 
the  arts  of  the  first  order  it  would  be  found  that  all  that  a  man 
has,  or  is,  or  can  be,  he  can  fully  express  in  them,  and  give  to 
any  of  them,  and  find  it  not  enough. 

15.  INSTINCTIVE  JUDGMENTS. 

The  same  rapid  judgment  which  I  wish  to  enable  the  reader 
to  form  of  architecture,  may  in  some  sort  also  be  formed  of 
painting,  owing  to  the  close  connection  between  execution  and 
expression  in  the  latter ;  as  between  structure  and  expression 
in  the  former.  We  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  good  jDainting  by  a 
side  glance  as  we  pass  along  a  gallery  ;  and,  until  we  can  do  so, 
we  are  not  fit  to  pronounce  judgment  at  all  :  not  that  I  class  this 
easily  visible  excellence  of  painting  with  the  great  exj)ressional 
qualities  which  time  and  watchfulness  only  unfold.  I  have  again 
and  again  insisted  on  the  supremacy  of  these  last  and  shall 


400 


APPENDIX,  15. 


always  continue  to  do  so.  But  I  perceive  a  tendency  among 
some  of  the  more  thoughtful  critics  of  the  day  to  forget  that  the 
business  of  <a  painter  is  to  paint,  and  so  altogether  to  despise 
those  men,  Veronese  and  Rubens  for  instance,  who  were  painters, 
par  excellence,  and  in  whom  the  expressional  qualities  are  subor- 
dinate.  Now  it  is  well,  when  we  have  strong  moral  or  poetical 
feeling  manifested  in  painting,  to  mark  this  as  the  best  part  of 
the  work  ;  but  it  is  not  well  to  consider  as  a  thing  of  small 
account,  the  painter’s  language  in  which  that  feeling  is  conveyed, 
for  if  that  language  be  not  good  and  lovely,  the  man  may  indeed 
be  a  just  moralist  or  a  great  poet,  but  he  is  not  a  painter,  and  it 
was  wrong  of  him  to  paint.  He  had  much  better  put  his  morality 
into  sermons,  and  his  poetry  into  verse,  than  into  a  language  of 
which  he  was  not  master.  And  this  mastery  of  the  language  is 
that  of  which  we  should  be  cognizant  by  a  glance  of  the  eye; 
and  if  that  be  not  found,  it  is  wasted  time  to  look  farther:  the 
man  has  mistaken  his  vocation,  and  his  expression  of  himself 
will  be  cramped  by  his  awkward  efforts  to  do  what  he  was  not 
fit  to  do.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  man  be  a  painter  indeed, 
and  have  the  gift  of  colors  and  lines,  what  is  in  him  will  come 
from  his  hand  freely  and  faithfully  ;  and  the  language  itself  is 
so  difficult  and  so  vast,  that  the  mere  possession  of  it  argues  the 
man  is  great,  and  that  his  works  are  worth  reading.  So  that  I 
have  never  yet  seen  the  case  in  which  this  true  artistical  excel¬ 
lence,  visible  by  the  eye-glance,  was  not  the  index  of  some  true 
expressional  worth  in  the  work.  Neither  have  I  ever  seen  a  good 
expressional  work  without  high  artistical  merit:  and  that  this  is 
ever  denied  is  only  owing  to  the  narrow  view  which  men  are  apt 
to  take  both  of  expression  and  of  art;  a  narrowness  consequent 
on  their  own  especial  practice  and  habits  of  thought.  A  man 
long  trained  to  love  the  monk’s  visions  of  Fra  Angelico,  turns 
in  proud  and  ineffable  disgust  from  the  first  work  of  Rubens 
which  he  encounters  on  his  return  across  the  Alps.  But  is  he 
right  in  his  indignation  ?  He  has  forgotten,  that  while  Angelico 
prayed  and  wept  in  his  olive  shade,  there  was  different  work 
doing  in  the  dank  fields  of  Flanders; — wild  seas  to  be  banked 
out ;  endless  canals  to  be  dug,  and  boundless  marshes  to  be 
drained;  hard  ploughing  and  harrowing  of  the  frosty  clay  ;  care¬ 
ful  breeding  of  stout  horses  and  fat  cattle;  close  setting  of  brick 


APPENDIX,  15. 


401 


walls  against  cold  winds  and  snow;  much  hardening  of  hands 
and  gross  stoutening  of  bodies  in  all  this ;  gross  jovialities  of 
harvest  homes  and  Christmas  feasts,  which  were  to  be  tlie  reward 
of  it;  rough  affections,  and  sluggish  imagination;  fleshy,  sub¬ 
stantial,  ironshod  humanities,  but  humanities  still ;  humanities 
which  God  had  his  eye  upon,  and  which  won,  perhaps,  here  and 
there,  as  much  favor  in  his  sight  as  the  wasted  aspects  of  the 
whispering  monks  of  Florence  (Heaven  forbid  it  should  not  be 
so,  since  the  most  of  us  cannot  be  monks,  but  must  be  ploughmen 
and  reapers  still).  And  are  we  to  suppose  there  is  no  nobility  in 
Rubens’  masculine  and  universal  sympathy  with  all  this,  and  with 
his  large  human  rendering  of  it,  Gentleman  though  he  was,  by 
birth,  and  feeling,  and  education,  and  place ;  and,  when  he 
chose,  lordly  in  conception  also  ?  He  had  his  faults,  perhaps 
great  and  lamentable  faults,  though  more  those  of  his  time  and 
his  country  than  his  own  ;  he  has  neither  cloister  breeding  nor 
boudoir  breeding,  and  is  very  unfit  to  paint  either  in  missals  or 
annuals  ;  but  he  has  an  open  sky  and  wide-world  breeding  in  him, 
that  we  may  not  be  offended  with,  fit  alike  for  king’s  court,  knight’s 
camp,  or  peasant’s  cottage.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  trained  hero 
in  England,  in  our  Sir  Joshua  school,  will  not  and  cannot  allow 
that  there  is  any  art  at  all  in  the  technical  work  of  Angelico. 
But  he  is  just  as  wrong  as  the  other.  Fra  Angelico  is  as  true  a 
master  of  the  art  necessary  to  his  purposes,  as  Rubens  was  of  that 
necesary  for  his.  We  have  been  taught  in  England  to  think  there 
can  be  no  virtue  but  in  a  loaded  brush  and  rapid  hand  ;  but  if 
we  can  shake  our  common  sense  free  of  such  teaching,  we  shall 
understand  that  there  is  art  also  in  the  delicate  point  and  in  the 
hand  which  trembles  as  it  moves  ;  not  because  it  is  more  liable 
to  err,  but  because  there  is  more  danger  in  its  error,  and  more 
at  stake  upon  its  precision.  The  art  of  Angelico,  both  as  a  color¬ 
ist  and  a  draughtsman,  is  consummate  ;  so  perfect  and  beautiful, 
that  his  w'ork  may  be  recognised  at  any  distance  by  the  rainbow- 
play  and  brilliancy  of  it :  However  closely  it  may  be  surrounded 
by  other  works  of  the  same  school,  glowing  with  enamel  and 
gold,  Angelico’s  may  be  told  from  them  at  a  glance,  like  so  many 
huge  pieces  of  opal  lying  among  common  marbles.  So  again 
with  (iiotto;  the  Arena  chapel  is  not  only  the  most  perfect  ex 


402 


APPENDIX,  16. 


pressional  work,  it  is  the  prettiest  piece  of  wall  decoration  and 
fair  color,  in  North  Italy. 

Now  there  is  a  correspondence  of  the  same  kind  between  the 
technical  and  expressional  parts  of  architecture ; — not  a  true  or 
entire  correspondence,  so  that  when  the  expression  is  best,  the 
building  must  be  also  best ;  but  so  much  of  correspondence  as 
that  good  building  is  necessary  to  good  expression,  comes  before 
it,  and  is  to  be  primarily  looked  for :  and  the  more,  because 
the  manner  of  building  is  capable  of  being  determinately  esti¬ 
mated  and  classed  ;  but  the  expressional  character  not  so  :  we 
can  at  once  determine  the  true  value  of  technical  qualities,  we  can 
only  approximate  to  the  value  of  expressional  qualities  :  and 
besides  this,  the  looking  for  the  technical  qualities  first  will 
enable  us  to  cast  a  large  quantity  of  rubbish  aside  at  once,  and 
so  to  narrow  the  difficult  field  of  inquiry  into  expression  :  we 
shall  get  rid  of  Chinese  pagodas  and  Indian  temples,  and  Eenais- 
sance  Palladiaiiisms,  and  Alhambra  stucco  and  filigree,  in  one 
great  rubbish  heap  ;  and  shall  not  need  to  trouble  ourselves  about 
their  expression,  or  anything  else  concerning  them.  Then  taking 
the  buildings  which  have  been  rightly  put  together,  and  which 
show  common  sense  in  their  structure,  we  may  look  for  their 
farther  and  higher  excellences  ;  but  on  those  which  are  absurd 
in  their  first  steps  we  need  waste  no  time. 

16.  STKENGTH  OF  SHAFTS. 

I  could  have  wished,  before  writing  this  chapter,  to  have  given 
more  study  to  the  difficult  subject  of  the  strength  of  shafts  of 
different  materials  and  structure  ;  but  I  cannot  enter  into  every 
inquiry  which  general  criticism  might  suggest,  and  this  I  believe 
to  be  one  which  would  have  oecupied  the  reader  with  less  profit 
than  many  others  :  all  that  is  necessary  for  him  to  note  is,  that 
the  gi’eat  increase  of  strength  gained  by  a  tubular  form  in  iron 
shafts,  of  given  solid  contents,  is  no  contradiction  to  the  general 
principle  stated  in  the  text,  that  the  strength  of  materials  is 
most  available  when  they  are  most  concentrated.  The  strength 
of  the  tube  is  owing  to  certain  properties  of  the  arch  formed  by 
its  sides,  not  to  the  dispersion  of  its  materials  :  and  the  princi])le 
is  altogether  inapplicable  to  stone  shafts.  No  one  would  think  of 


APPENDIX,  17. 


403 


building  a  pillar  of  a  succession  of  sandstone  rinsrs  5  liowever 
strong  it  might  be,  it  would  be  still  stronger  filled  up,  and  the 
substitution  of  such  a  pillar  for  a  solid  one  of  the  same  contents 
Avould  lose  too  much  space ;  for  a  stone  pillar,  even  when  solid, 
must  be  cpiite  as  thick  as  is  either  graceful  or  convenient,  and 
in  modern  churches  is  often  too  thick  as  it  is,  hindering  sight  of 
the  preacher,  and  checking  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

17.  ANSWER  TO  MR.  GARRETT. 

Some  three  months  ago,  and  long  after  the  writing  of  this 
passage,  I  met  accidentally  with  Mr.  Garbett’s  elementary  Treatise 
on  Design.  (Weale,  1850.)  If  I  had  cared  about  the  reputation 
of  originality,  I  should  have  been  annoyed— and  was  so,  at  first, 
on  finding  Mr.  Garbett’s  illustrations  of  the  subject  exactly  the 
same  as  mine,  even  to  the  choice  of  the  elephant’s  foot  for  the 
parallel  of  the  Doric  jiillar :  I  even  thought  of  omitting,  or  re¬ 
writing,  great  part  of  the  chapter,  but  determined  at  last  to  let  it 
stand.  I  am  striving  to  sjieak  plain  truths  on  many  simple  and 
trite  subjects,  and  I  hope,  therefore,  that  much  of  what  I  say  has 
been  said  before,  and  am  quite  willing  to  give  up  all  claim  to 
originality  in  any  reasoning  or  assertion  whatsoever,  if  any  one 
cares  to  dispute  it.  I  desire  the  reader  to  accept  what  I  say,  not 
as  mine,  but  as  the  truth,  which  may  be  all  the  world’s,  if  they  look 
for  it.  If  I  remember  rightly,  Mr.  Frank  Howard  i)romised  at 
some  discussion  respecting  the  “  Seven  Lamps,”  reported  in  the  - 
Builder,”  to  pluck  all  my  borrowed  feathers  off  me  ;  but  I  did 
not  see  the  end  of  the  discussion,  and  do  not  know  to  this  day 
how  many  feathers  I  have  left:  at  all  events  the  elephant’s  foot 
must  belong  to  Mr.  Garbett,  though,  strictly  speaking,  neither 
ho  nor  I  can  bo  quite  justified  in  using  it,  for  an  elephant  in 
reality  stands  on  tiptoe  ;  and  this  is  by  no  means  the  expression 
of  a  Doric  shaft.  As,  however,  I  have  been  obliged  to  speak  of 
this  treatise  of  Mr.  Garbett’s,  and  desire  also  to  recommend  it 
as  of  much  interest  and  utility  in  its  statements  of  fact,  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  pass  altogether  without  notice,  as  if  un¬ 
answerable,  several  passages  in  which  the  writer  has  objected  to 
views  stated  in  the  ‘‘Seven  Lamps.”  I  should  at  any  rate  have 
noticed  the  passage  quoted  above,  (Chap.  30th,)  which  runs 


404 


APPENDIX,  17. 


counter  to  the  spirit  of  all  I  have  ever  written,  though  without 
referring  to  me ;  but  the  references  to  the  Seven  Lamps”  I 
should  not  have  answered,  unless  I  had  desired,  generally,  to 
recommend  the  book,  and  partly  also,  because  they  may  serve 
as  examples  of  the  kind  of  animadversion  which  the  “Seven 
Lamps”  had  to  sustain  from  architects,  very  generally;  which 
examples  being  once  answered,  there  will  be  little  occasion  for 
my  referring  in  future  to  other  criticisms  of  the  kind. 

The  first  reference  to  the  “Seven  Lamps”  is  in  the  second 
page,  where  Mr.  Garbett  asks  a  question,  “Why  are  not  con¬ 
venience  and  stability  enough  to  constitute  a  fine  building?” — 
vdiich  I  sliould  have  answered  shortly  by  asking  another,  “  Why 
we  liave  been  made  men,  and  not  bees  nor  termites:  ’  but  Mr. 
Garbett  has  given  a  very  pretty,  though  partial,  answer  to  it 
himself,  in  his  4th  to  9th  pages, — an  answer  which  I  heartily  beg 
the  reader  to  consider.  But,  in  page  12,  it  is  made  a  grave 
charge  against  me,  that  I  use  the  words  beauty  and  ornament  in¬ 
terchangeably.  I  do  so,  and  ever  shall;  and  so,  I  believe,  one 
day,  Avill  Mr,  Garbett’  himself;  but  not  while  he  continues  to 
head  his  pages  thus: — “Beauty  not  dependent  on  ornament,  or 
svperfiuons  features,”  What  right  has  he  to  assume  that  orna¬ 
ment,  rightly  so  called,  ever  was,  or  can  be,  superfluous?  I  have 
said  before,  and  repeatedly  in  other  places,  that  the  most  beau¬ 
tiful  things  are  the  most  useless;  I  never  said  superfluous.  I  said 
useless  in  the  well-understood  aud  usual  sense,  as  meaning,  inap¬ 
plicable  to  the  service  of  the  bodtx  Thus  I  called  peacocks  and 
lilies  useless;  meaning,  tliat  roast  peacock  Avas  unAvholesome 
(taking  JuA’enal’s  word  for  it),  and  that  dried  lilies  made  bad 
hay:  but  I  do  not  think  peacocks  superfluous  birds,  nor  that  the 
world  could  get  on  Avell  Avithout  its  lilies.  Or,  to  look  closer, 
I  suppose  the  peacock’s  blue  cats  to  be  very  useless  to  him;  not 
dangerous  indeed,  as  to  their  first  master,  but  of  small  service, 
yet  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  superfluous  eye  in  all  his  tail;  and 
for  lilies,  though  the  great  King  of  Israel  was  not  “arrayed” 
like  one  of  them,  can  Mr.  Garbett  tell  us  Avhich  are  their  super¬ 
fluous  leaves  ?  Is  there  no  Diogenes  among  lilies  ?  none  to  be 
found  content  to  drink  dew,  but  out  of  sih'er  ?  The  fact  is,  I 
ncA'er  met  Avith  the  architect  yet  Avho  did  not  think  ornament 
meant  a  thing  to  be  bought  in  a  shop  and  jiiuned  on,  or  left  off, 


APPESTDIX,  17, 


405 


at  architectural  toilets,  as  the  fancy  seized  them,  thinking  little 
more  than  many  women  do  of  the  other  kind  of  ornament— the 
only  true  kind, — St.  Peter’s  kind, — ‘‘Not  that  outward- adorn- 
ing,  but  the  inner — of  the  heart.”  I  do  not  mean  that  architects 
cannot  conceive  this  better  ornament,  but  they  do  not  understand 
that  it  is  the  only  ornament ;  that  all  architectural  ornament  is 
this,  and  nothing  but  this  ;  that  a  noble  building  never  has  any 
extraneous  or  superfluous  ornament ;  that  all  its  parts  are  neces¬ 
sary  t<vits  loveliness,  and  that  no  single  atom  of  them  could  be 
removed  without  harm  to  its  life.  You  do  not  build  a  temple 
and  then  dress  it.*  You  create  it  in  its  loveliness,  and  leave  it, 
as  her  Maker  left  Eve.  Not  unadorned,  I  believe,  but  so  well 
adorned  as  to  need  no  feather  crowns.  And  I  use  the  words 
ornament  and  beauty  interchangeably,  in  order  that  architects 
may  understand  this  :  I  assume  that  their  building  is  to  be  a  per¬ 
fect  creature  capable  of  nothing  less  than  it  has,  and  needing 
nothing  more.  It  may,  indeed,  receive  additional  decoration 
afterwards,  exactly  as  a  woman  may  gracefully  put  a  bracelet  on 
her  arm,  or  set  a  flower  in  her  hair:  but  that  additional  decora¬ 
tion  is  7int  the  architecture.  It  is  of  curtains,  pictures,  statues, 
things  that  may  be  taken  away  from  the  building,  and  not  hurt 
it.  hat  has  the  architect  to  do  with  these  ?  He  has  only  to 
do  with  what  is  part  of  the  building  itself,  that  is  to  say,  its  own 
inherent  beauty.  And  because  Mr.  Garbett  does  not  understand 
or  acknowledge  this,  he  is  led  on  from  error  to  error;  for  Ave 
next  find  him  endeavoring  to  define  beauty  as  distinct  from  orna¬ 
ment,  and  saying  that  “  PositiA^e  beauty  may  be  produced  by  a 
studious  collation  of  whatever  Avill  display  design,  order,  and 
congruity.”  (p.  14.)  Is  that  so?  There  is  a  highly  studious 
collation  of  AvhateA'er  will  display  design,  order,  and  congruity, 
in  a  skull,  is  there  not  ? — yet  small  beauty.  The  nose  is  a  deco¬ 
rative  feature, — yet  slightly  necessary  to  beauty,  it  seems  to  me  ; 
now,  at  least,  for  I  once  thought  I  must  be  wi-ong  in  considering 
a  skull  disagreeable.  I  gave  it  fair  trial :  put  one  on  my  bed¬ 
room  chimney-piece,  and  looked  at  it  by  sunrise  every  morning, 

*  We  have  done  so — theoretically;  just  as  one  would  reason  on  the 
human  form  from  the  bones  outwards:  but  the  Architect  of  human  form 
frames  all  at  once — bone  and  flbsh. 


40G 


A-PPEZSTDIX,  17. 


and  by  moonliglit  every  night,  and  by  all  the  best  lights  I  could 
think  of,  for  a  month,  in  vain.  I  found  it  a  sugly  at  last  as  I 
did  at  first.  So,  also,  the  hair  is  a  decoration,  and  its  natural 
curl  is  of  little  use  ;  but  can  Mr.  Garbett  conceive  a  bald  beauty  ; 
or  does  he  prefer  a  wig,  because  that  is  a  studious  collation” 
of  whatever  will  produce  design,  order,  and  congruity  ?  So  the 
flush  of  the  cheek  is  a  decoration, — God’s  painting  of  the  temple 
of  his  spirit, — and  the  redness  of  the  lip ;  and  yet  poor  Viola 
thought  it  beauty  truly  blent ;  and  I  hold  with  her. 

I  have  answered  enough  to  this  count. 

The  second  point  questioned  is  my  assertion,  Ornament 
cannot  be  overcharged  if  it  is  good,  and  is  always  overcharged 
when  it  is  bad.”  To  which  Mr.  Garbett  objects  in  these  terms  ; 
“1  must  contend,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  very  best  ornament 
may  be  overcharged  by  being  misplaced.” 

A  short  sentence  with  two  mistakes  in  it. 

First.  Mr.  Garbett  cannot  get  rid  of  his  unfortunate  notion 
that  ornament  is  a  thing  to  be  manufactured  separately,  and  fast¬ 
ened  on.  He  supposes  that  an  ornament  may  be  called  good  in 
itself,  in  the  stonemason’s  yard  or  in  the  ironmonger’s  shop: 
Once  for  all,  let  him  put  this  idea  out  of  his  head.  We  may  say 
of  a  thing,  considered  separately,  that  it  is  a  pretty  thing  ;  but 
before  we  can  say  it  is  a  good  ornament,  we  must  know  what  it 
is  to  adorn,  and  how.  As,  for  instance,  a  ring  of  gold  is  a  pretty 
thing  ;  it  is  a  good  ornament  on  a  woman’s  finger ;  not  a  good 
ornament  hung  through  her  under  lip.  A  hollyhock,  seven  feet 
high,  would  be  a  good  ornament  for  a  cottage-garden  ;  not  a  good 
ornament  for  a  lady’s  head-dress.  Might  not  :Mr.  Garbett  have 
seen  this  without  my  showing  ?  and  that,  therefore,  when  I  said 
good”  ornament,  I  said  ^  Avell-placed  ”  ornament,  in  one  word, 
and  that,  also,  when  Mr.  Garbett  says  “  it  may  be  overcharged 
by  being  misplaced,”  he  merely  says  it  may  be  overcharged  by 
being  bad. 

Secondly.  But,  granted  that  ornament  were  independent  of 
its  position,  and  might  be  pronounced  good  in  a  separate  form, 
as  books  are  good,  or  men  are  good, — Suppose  I  had  written  to 
a  student  in  Oxford,  “  You  cannot  have  too  many  books,  if  they 
be  good  books  and  he  had  answered  me,  Yes,  for  if  I  have 
tnany,  I  have  no  place  to  put  them  in  but  the  coal-cellar.” 


APPENDIX,  17. 


407 


’U  ould  that  in  anywise  affect  the  general  principle  that  he  could 
not  have  too  many  hooks  ? 

Or  suppose  he  had  written,  I  must  not  have  too  many,  they 
confuse  my  head.”  I  should  have  written  back  to  him  :  ‘‘Don't 
buy  books  to  put  in  the  coal-hole,  nor  read  them  if  they  confuse 
your  head  ;  you  cannot  have  too  many,  if  they  be  good  :  but  if 
you  are  too  lazy  to  take  care  of  them,  or  too  dull  to  j^rofit  by 
them,  you  are  better  without  them.” 

Exactly  in  the  same  tone,  I  repeat  to  Mr.  Garbett,  “You 
cannot  have  too  much  ornament,  if  it  be  good  :  but  if  you  are 
too  indolent  to  arrange  it,  or  too  dull  to  take  advantage  of  it, 
assuredly  you  are  better  without  it.” 

The  other  points  bearing  on  this  question  have  already  been 
stated  in  the  close  of  the  21st  chapter. 

The  third  reference  I  have  to  answer,  is  to  my  repeated  asser¬ 
tion,  that  the  evidence  of  manual  labor  is  one  of  the  chief  sources 
of  value  in  ornament,  (“  Seven  Lamps,”  p.  49,  “  Modern 
Painters,”  §  1,  Chap.  III.,)  to  which  objection  is  made  in  these 
terms:  “We  must  here  warn  the  reader  against  a  remarkable 
error  of  Euskin.  The  value  of  ornaments  in  architecture  depends 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  on  the  manual  labor  they  contain.  If 
it  did,  the  finest  ornaments  ever  executed  would  be  the  stone 
chains  that  hang  before  certain  Indian  rock-temples.”  Is  that 
so  ?  Hear  a  parallel  argument.  “  The  value  of  the  Cornish 
mines  deiiends  not  in  the  slightest  degree  on  the  quantity  of  cop¬ 
per  they  contain.  If  it  did,  the  most  valuable  things  ever  pro¬ 
duced  would  be  copper  saucepans.”  It  is  hardly  worth  my  while 
to  answer  this;  but,  lest  any  of  my  readers  should  be  confused 
by  the  objection,  and  as  I  hold  the  fact  to  be  of  great  imj)ortance, 
I  may  re-state  it  for  them  with  some  explanation. 

Observe,  then,  the  appearance  of  labor,  that  is  to  say,  the 
evidence  of  the  past  industry  of  man,  is  always,  in  the  abstract, 
intensely  delightful  :  man  being  meant  to  labor,  it  is  delightful 
to  see  that  he  has  labored,  and  to  read  the  record  of  his  active 
and  worthy  existence. 

The  evidence  of  labor  becomes  painful  only  when  it  is  a  sign 
of  Evil  greater,  as  Evil,  than  the  labor  is  great,  as  Good.  As, 
for  instance,  if  a  man  has  labored  for  an  hour  at  what  might 
have  been  done  bv  another  man  in  a  moment,  this  evidence  ol 


408 


APPENDIX,  17. 


liis  labor  is  also  evidence  of  his  weakness  ;  and  this  weakness  is 
greater  in  rank  of  evil,  than  his  industry  is  great  in  rank  of 
good. 

Again,  if  a  man  have  labored  at  what  was  not  worth  accom¬ 
plishing,  the  signs  of  his  labor  are  the  signs  of  his  folly,  and  his 
folly  dishonors  his  industry  ;  we  had  rather  he  had  been  a  wise 
man  in  rest  than  a  fool  in  labor. 

Again,  if  a  man  have  labored  without  accomplishing  anything, 
the  signs  of  his  labor  are  the  signs  of  his  disappointment ;  and 
we  have  more  sorrow  in  sympathy  with  his  failure,  than  pleasure 
in  sympathy  with  his  work. 

Now,  therefore,  in  ornament,  whenever  labor  replaces  what 
was  better  than  labor,  that  is  to  say,  skill  and  thought;  wherever 
it  substitutes  itself  for  these,  or  negatives  these  by  its  existence, 
then  it  is  positive  evil.  Copper  is  an  evil  when  it  alloys  gold,  or 
poisons  food  :  not  an  evil,  as  copper  ;  good  in  the  form  of  pence, 
seriously  objectionable  when  it  occupies  the  room  of  guineas. 
Let  Danae  cast  it  out  of  her  lap,  when  the  gold  comes  from 
heaven ;  but  let  the  poor  man  gather  it  up  carefully  from  the 
earth. 

Fartlier,  the  evidence  of  labor  is  not  only  a  good  when  added 
to  other  good,  but  the  utter  absence  of  it  destroys  good  in  human 
work.  It  is  only  good  for  Cod  to  create  without  toil ;  that  which 
man  can  create  without  toil  is  worthless  :  machine  ornaments 
are  no  ornaments  at  all.  Consider  this  carefully,  reader  :  I  could 
illustrate  it  for  you  endlessly  ;  but  you  feel  it  yourself  every  hour 
of  your  existence.  And  if  you  do  not  know  that  you  feel  it, 
take  up,  for  a  little  time,  the  trade  which  of  all  manual  trades 
has  been  most  honored  :  be  for  once  a  carpenter.  Make  for 
yourself  a  table  or  a  chair,  and  see  if  you  ever  thought*  any  table 
or  chair  so  delightful,  and  Avhat  strange  beauty  there  will  be  in 
their  crooked  limbs. 

I  have  not  noticed  any  other  animadversions  on  the  “  Seven 
Lamps”  in  Mr.  Carbett’s  volume;  but  if  there  be  more,  I  must 
now  leave  it  to  his  own  consideration,  whether  he  may  not,  as  in 
the  above  instances,  have  made  them  incautiously  :  I  may,  per¬ 
haps,  also  be  permitted  to  request  other  architects,  Avho  may 
happen  to  glance  at  the  preceding  pages,  not  immediately  to 
condemn  what  may  appear  to  them  false  in  general  principle.  I 


APPENDIX,  17. 


409 


must  often  be  found  deficient  in  technical  knowledge;  I  may 
often  err  in  my  statements  respecting  matters  of  practice  or  of 
special  law.  But  I  do  not  write  thoughtlessly  respecting  prin- 
cijiles  ;  and  my  statements  of  these  will  generally  be  found  worth 
reconnoitring  before  attacking.  Architects,  no  doubt,  fancy 
they  have  strong  grounds  for  supposing  me  wrong  when  thej 
seek  to  invalidate  my  assertions.  Let  me  assure  them,  at  least, 
that  I  mean  to  be  their  friend,  although  they  may  not  imme¬ 
diately  recognise  me  as  such.  If  I  could  obtain  the  public  ear, 
and  the  principles  I  have  advocated  were  carried  into  general 
practice,  porphyry  and  serpentine  would  be  given  to  them  in¬ 
stead  of  limestone  and  brick ;  instead  of  tavern  and  shop-fronts 
they  would  have  to  build  goodly  churches  and  noble  dwelling- 
houses  ;  and  for  every  stunted  Grecism  and  stucco  Romanism, 
into  which  they  are  now  forced  to  shape  their  palsied  thoughts, 
and  to  whose  crumbling  plagiarisms  they  must  trust  their  doubt¬ 
ful  fame,  they  would  be  asked  to  raise  whole  streets  of  bold,  and 
rich,  and  living  architecture,  with  the  certainty  in  their  hearts 
of  doing  what  was  honorable  to  themselves,  and  good  for  all  men. 

Before  I  altogether  leave  the  question  of  the  influence  of  labor 
on  architectural  effect,  the  reader  may  expect  from  me  a  Avord  or 
two  respecting  the  subject  which  this  year  must  be  interesting  to 
all — the  applicability,  namely,  of  glass  and  iron  to  architecture 
in  general,  as  in  some  sort  exemplified  by  the  Crystal  Palace.  ■ 

It  is  thought  by  many  that  Ave  shall  forth Avith  haA’'e  great  part 
of  our  architecture  in  glass  and  iron,  and  that  neAV  forms  of 
beauty  will  result  from  the  studied  employment  of  these  mate¬ 
rials. 

It  may  be  told  in  a  feAV  words  how  far  this  is  possible;  how 
far  eternally  impossible. 

There  are  two  means  of  delight  in  all  productions  of  art^- 
color  and  form. 

The  most  vivid  conditions  of  color  attainable  by  human  ait 
are  those  of  Avorks  in  glass  and  enamel,  but  not  the  most  pei  feet. 
The  best  and  noblest  coloring  possible  to  art  is  that  attained  by 
the  touch  of  the  human  hand  on  an  opaque  surface,  upon  Avhich 
it  can  command  any  tint  required,  Avithout  subjection  to  alteia- 
tion  by  fire  or  other  mechanical  means.  No  color  is  so  noble  as 
the  color  of  a  good  painting  on  canvas  or  gesso. 


410 


APPENDIX,  17. 


This  kind  of  color  being,  however,  impossible,  for  the  most 
part,  in  architecture,  the  next  best  is  the  scientific  disposition  of 
the  natural  colors  of  stones,  which  are  far  nobler  than  any  ab¬ 
stract  hues  producible  by  human  art. 

The  delight  which  we  receive  from  glass  painting  is  one  alto¬ 
gether  inferior,  and  in  which  we  should  degrade  ourselves  by 
over  indulgence.  Never theless,  it  is  possible  that  we  may  raise 
some  palaces  like  Aladdin’s  with  colored  glass  for  jewels,  which 
shall  be  new  in  the  annals  of  human  splendor,  and  good  in  their 
place;  but  not  if  they  superseded  nobler  edifices. 

Now,  color  is  producible  either  on  opaque  or  in  transparent 
bodies  :  but  form  is  only  expressible,  in  its  perfection,  on  opaque 
bodies,  without  lustre. 

This  law  is  imperative,  universal,  irrevocable.  No  perfect  or 
refined  form  can  be  expressed  except  in  opaque  and  lustreless 
matter.  You  cannot  see  the  form  of  a  jewel,  nor,  in  any  perfec¬ 
tion,  even  of  a  cameo  or  bronze.  You  cannot  perfectly  see  the 
form  of  a  humming-bird,  on  account  of  its  burnishing  ;  but  you 
can  see  the  form  of  a  swan  perfectly.  No  noble  work  in  form  can 
ever,  therefore,  be  produced  in  transparent  or  lustrous  glass  or 
enamel.  All  noble  architecture  depends  for  its  majesty  on  its 
form  :  therefore  you  can  never  have  any  noble  architecture  in 
transparent  or  lustrous  glass  or  enamel.  Iron  is,  however, 
opaque;  and  both  it  and  opaque  enamel  may,  perhaps,  be  ren¬ 
dered  quite  lustreless  ;  and,  therefore,  fit  to  receive  noble  form. 

Let  this  be  thoroughly  done,  and  both  the  iron  and  enamel 
made  fine  in  paste  or  grain,  and  you  may  have  an  architecture 
as  noble  as  cast  or  struck  architecture  even  can  be;  as  noble, 
therefore,  as  coins  can  be,  or  common  cast  bronzes,  and  such 
other  multiplicable  things  ;  * — eternally  separated  from  all 


*  Of  course  mere  multiplicability,  as  of  an  engraving,  does  not  diminish 
the  intrinsic  value  of  tlie  work ;  and  if  the  casts  of  sculpture  could  be  as 
sharp  as  the  sculpture  itself,  they  would  hold  to  it  the  relation  of  value 
which  engravings  hold  to  paintings.  And,  if  we  choose  to  have  our  churches 
all  alike,  we  might  cast  them  all  in  bronze — we  might  actually  coin  churches, 
and  have  mints  of  Cathedrals.  It  would  be  worthy  of  the  spirit  of  the 
century  to  put  milled  edges  for  mouldings,  and  have  a  popular  currency  of 
religious  subjects:  a  new  cast  of  nativities  every  Christmas.  I  have  not 
heard  this  contemplated,  however,  and  I  speak,  therefore,  only  of  the  re- 


APPENDIX,  18. 


411 


good  and  great  things  by  a  gulpli  which  not  all  the  tubular 
bridges  nor  engineering  of  ten  thousand  nineteenth  centuries 
cast  into  one  great  bronzc-forelieaded  century,  will  ever  overpass 
one  inch  of.  All  art  which  is  worth  its  room  in  this  world,  all 
art  which  is  not  a  piece  of  blundering  refuse,  occupying  the  foot 
or  two  of  earth  which,  if  unencumbered  by  it,  would  have  grown 
corn  or  violets,  or  some  better  thing,  is  art  loliicli  proceeds  from 
an  individual  mind,  worTcing  through  instruments  which  assist, 
hut  do  not  supersede,  the  muscidar  action  of  the  human  hand, 
upon  the  materials  which  most  tenderly  receive,  and  most  securely 
retain,  the  impressions  of  such  human  labor. 

And  the  value  of  every  work  of  art  is  exactly  in  the  ratio  of 
the  quantity  of  humanity  which  has  been  put  into  it,  and  legibly 
expressed  upon  it  for  ever: — 

First,  of  thought  and  moral  purpose; 

Secondly,  of  technical  skill; 

Thirdly,  of  bodily  industry. 

The  quantity  of  bodily  industry  which  that  Crystal  Palace  ex¬ 
presses  is  very  great.  So  far  it  is  good. 

The  quantity  of  thought  it  expresses  is,  I  suppose,  a  single 
and  very  admirable  thought  of  Mr.  Paxton’s,  probably  not  a  bit 
brighter  than  tliousands  of  thoughts  which  pass  through  his 
active  and  intelligent  brain  every  hour, — that  it  might  be  possible 
to  build  a  greenhouse  larger  than  ever  greenhouse  was  built  be¬ 
fore.  This  thought,  and  some  very  ordinary  algebra,  are  as 
much  as  all  that  glass  can  represent  of  human  intellect.  ‘‘But 
one  poor  half -pennyworth  of  bread  to  all  this  intolerable  deal  of 
sack.”  Alas! 

“The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  hath: 

And  this  is  of  them.” 

18.  EAKLY  ENGLISH  CAPITALS. 

The  depth  of  the  cutting  in  some  of  the  early  English  capi¬ 
tals  is,  indeed,  part  of  a  general  system  of  attempts  at  exagger¬ 
ated  force  of  effect,  like  the  “  hlach  touches”  of  second-rate 

suits  which  I  believe  are  contemplated,  as  attainable  by  mere  mechanical 
applications  of  glass  and  iron. 


412 


APPENDIX,  19. 


dranglitsmen,  wliicli  I  have  noticed  as  characteristic  of  nearly 
all  northern  work,  associated  with  the  love  of  the  grotesque:  but 
the  main  section  of  the  capital  is  indeed  a  dripstone  rolled  round, 
as  above  described;  and  dripstone  sections  are  continually  found 
in  northern  work,  where  not  only  they  cannot  increase  force  of 
efEect,  but  are  entirely  invisible  except  on  close  examination;  as, 
for  instance,  under  the  uppermost  range  of  stones  of  the  founda¬ 
tion  of  Whitehall,  or  under  the  slope  of  the  restored  base  of  All 
Souls  College,  Oxford,  under  the  level  of  the  eye.  I  much  doubt 
if  any  of  the  Fellows  be  aware  of  its  existence. 

Many  readers  will  be  surprised  and  displeased  by  the  dispar¬ 
agement  of  the  early  English  capital.  That  capital  has,  indeed, 
one  character  of  considerable  value;  namely,  the  boldness  with 
which  it  stops  the  mouldings  which  fall  upon  it,  and  severs  them 
from  the  shaft,  contrasting  itself  with  the  multiplicity  of  their 
vertical  lines.  Sparingly  used,  or  seldom  seen,  it  is  thus,  in  its 
jilace,  not  unpleasing;  and  w'e  English  love  it  from  association, 
it  being  always  found  in  connection  with  our  purest  and  loveliest 
Gothic  arches,  and  never  in  multitudes  large  enough  to  satiate 
the  eye  with  its  form.  The  reader  who  sits  in  the  Temple  church 
every  Sunday,  and  sees  no  architecture  during  the  week  but  that 
of  Chancery  Lane,  may  most  justifiably  quarrel  with  me  for  what 
I  have  said  of  it.  But  if  every  house  in  Fleet  Street  or  Chancery 
Lane  were  Gothic,  and  all  had  early  English  capitals,  I  would 
answer  for  his  making  peace  with  me  in  a  fortnight. 

19.  TOMBS  NEAR  ST.  ANASTASIA. 

Whose  they  are,  is  of  little  consequence  to  the  reader  or  to 
me,  and  I  have  taken  no  pains  to  discover;  their  value  being  not 
in  any  evidence  they  bear  respecting  dates,  but  in  their  intrinsic 
merit  as  examples  of  composition.  Two  of  them  are  within  the 
gate,  one  on  the  top  of  it,  and  this  Latter  is  ou  the  whole  the  best, 
tliough  all  are  beautiful;  uniting  the  intense  northern  energy  in 
their  figure  sculpture  with  the  most  serene  classical  restraint  in 
their  outlines,  and  unaffected,  but  masculine  simplicity  of  con¬ 
struction. 

I  have  not  put  letters  to  the  diagram  of  the  lateral  arch  at  page 
154,  in  order  not  to  interfere  with  the  clearness  of  the  curves,  but 


APPEXDIX,  20. 


41C 


I  shall  always  express  the  same  points  by  the  same  letters,  when  ever 

1  have  to  give  measures  of  arches  of  this  simple  kind,  so  that  the 
reader  need  never  have  the  diagrams  lettered  at  all.  The  base 
or  sj^an  of  the  centre  arch  will  always  be  a  t;  its  vertex  will  al- 
w’ays  be  Y;  the  points  of  the  cusps  will  be  c  c;  p  p  will  be  the 
bases  of  perpendiculars  let  fall  from  Y  and  c  on  a  1;  and  d  the 
base  of  a  perpendicnlar  from  the  point  of  the  cusp  to  the  arch 
line.  Then  a  h  will  always  be  a  span  of  the  arch,  Y p  its  per¬ 
pendicular  height,  Y  a  the  chord  of  its  side  arcs,  d  c  the  depth  of 
its  cusps,  c  c  the  horizontal  interval  between  the  cusps,  a  c  the 
length  of  the  chord  of  the  lower  arc  of  the  cusp,  Y  c  the  length 
of  the  chord  of  the  upper  arc  of  the  cusp,  (whether  continuous 
or  not,)  and  c  p  the  length  of  a  perpendicular  from  the  point  of 
the  cusp  on  a  i. 

Of  course  we  do  not  want  all  these  measures  for  a  single  arch, 
but  it  often  happens  that  some  of  them  are  attainable  more  easily 
than  others;  some  are  often  unattainable  altogether,  and  it  is 
necessary  therefore  to  have  expressions  for  whichever  we  may  be 
able  to  determine. 

\  p  or  Y  a,  a  I,  and  d  c  are  always  essential;  then  either  a  c 
and  Y  c  ov  c  c  and  c  when  I  have  my  choice,  I  always  take  ab, 
Y  p,  d  c,  c  c,  and  c  p,  but  c  p  is  not  to  be  generally  obtained  so 
accurately  as  the  cusp  arcs. 

The  measures  of  the  present  arch  are: 

Ft.  In. 
al),  3  ,,  8 
^P,  4„0 

Y  c,  2„4i 
a  c,  2  ,, 
d  c,  0  ,,  3^ 

20.  SHAFTS  OF  DUCAL  PALACE. 

The  shortness  of  the  thicker  ones  at  the  angles  is  induced  by 
the  greater  depth  of  the  enlarged  capitals:  thus  the  36th  shaft  is 
10  ft.  4^  in.  in  circumference  at  its  base,  and  10  ,,  0^^*  in  cir- 

*  I  shall  often  have  occasion  to  write  measures  in  the  current  text,  there¬ 
fore  the  reader  will  kindly  understand  that  whenever  they  are  thus  written, 

2  2.  with  double  commas  between,  the  first  figures  stand  for  English  feet, 
the  second  for  English  inches. 


414 


APPENDIX,  20. 


cumference  under  the  fillet  of  its  capital;  but.it  is  only  6  ,,  If 
high,  while  the  minor  intermediate  shafts,  of  which  the  thickest 
is  7  ,,  8  round  at  the  base,  and  7  ,,  4  under  capital,  are  yet  on  the 
average  7  ,,  7  high.  The  angle  shaft  towards  the  sea  (the  18th) 
is  nearly  of  the  proportions  of  the  36th,  and  there  are  three 
others,  the  15th,  24th,  and  2Gth,  which  are  thicker  than  the 
rest,  though  not  so  thick  as  the  angle  ones.  The  24th  and  2Gth 
have  both  party  walls  to  bear,  and  I  imagine  the  15th  must  in 
old  time  have  carried  another,  reaching  across  what  is  now  the 
Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio. 

They  measure  resjiectively  round  at  the  base. 

The  15th,  8  „  2 
24th,  9  „ 

26th,  8  „  ol 

The  other  pillars  towards  the  sea,  and  those  to  the  27th  inclu¬ 
sive  of  the  Piazzetta,  are  all  seven  feet  round  at  the  base,  and  then 
there  is  a  most  curious  and  delicate  crescendo  of  circumference 
to  the  36th,  thus: 

The  28th,  7  „  3 
29th,  7  „  4 
30th,  7  „  6 
31st,  7  „  7 
32nd  7 ,,  5 

The  shafts  of  the  upper  arcade,  which  are  above  these  thicker 
columns,  are  also  thicker  than  their  companions,  measuring  on  the 
average,  4  „  8|-  in  circumference,  while  those  of  the  sea  fagade, 
except  the  29th,  average  4  „  74  in  circumference.  The  29th, 
which  is  of  course  above  the  15th  of  the  lower  story,  is  5  ,,  5  in 
circumference,  which  little  piece  of  evidence  will  be  of  no  small 
value  to  us  by-and-by.  The  35th  carries  the  angle  of  the  palace, 
and  is  6  ,,  0  round.  The  47th,  Avhich  comes  above  the  24th  and 
carries  the  party  wall  of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio,  is  strength¬ 
ened  by  a  pilaster;  and  the  51st,  which  comes  over  the  26th,  is 
5  ,,  44  round,  or  nearly  the  same  as  the  29th;  it  carries  the  party 
wall  of  the  Sala  del  Scrutinio;  a  small  room  containing  part  of 


The  33rd,  7  „  6 
34th,  7  „  8 
35th,  7  „  8 
36th,  10„  4^ 


APPEISTDIX,  20. 


415 


St.  Mark’s  library,  coming  between  the  two  saloons;  a  room 
which,  in  remembrance  of  the  helj^  I  have  received  in  all  my  in¬ 
quiries  from  the  kindness  and  intelligence  of  its  usual  occupant, 

I  shall  never  easily  distinguish  otherwise  than  as  ‘‘fc.  Loren- 
zi’s.”* 

I  may  as  well  connect  with  these  notes  respecting  the  arcades 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  those  which  refer  to  Plate  XIV.,  which  . 
represents  one  of  its  spandrils.  Every  spandril  of  the  lower 
arcade  was  intended  to  liave  been  occupied  by  an  ornament  re¬ 
sembling  the  one  given  in  that  plate.  The  mass  of  the  building 
being  of  Istrian  stone,  a  depth  of  about  two  inches  is  left  within 
the  mouldings  of  the  arches,  rough  hewn,  to  receive  the  slabs  of 
fine  marble  composing  the  patterns.  I  cannot  say  whether  the 
design  was  ever  completed,  or  the  marbles  have  been  since  re¬ 
moved,  but  there  are  now  only  two  spandrils  retaining  their  fill¬ 
ings,  and  vestiges  of  them  in  a  third.  The  two  comjdete  span¬ 
drils  are  on  the  sea  fuQade,  above  the  3rd  and  10th  capitals  {vide 
method  of  numbering.  Chap.  I.,  page  30);  that  is  to  say,  con¬ 
necting  the  2nd  arch  with  the  3rd,  and  the  9th  with  the  10th. 
The  latter  is  the  one  given  in  Plate  XIV.  The  white  j)ortions 
of  it  are  all  white  marble,  the  dental  band  surrounding  the  circle 
is  in  coarse  sugary  marble,  which  I  believe  to  be  Greek,  and  never 
found  in  Venice  to  my  recollection,  except  in  work  at  least  an¬ 
terior  to  the  fifteenth  century.  The  shaded  fields  charged  with 
the  three  white  triangles  are  of  red  Verona  marble;  the  inner 
disc  is  green  serpentine,  and  the  dark  pieces  of  the  radiating 
leaves  are  grey  marble.  The  three  triangles  are  equilateral.  The 
two  uppermost  are  1  ,,  5  each  side,  and  the  low'er  1  ,,  2. 

The  extreme  diameter  of  the  circle  is  3  ,,  10-|- ;  its  field  is 
slightly  raised  above  the  red  marbles,  as  shown  in  the  section  at 
A,  on  the  left.  A  a  is  part  of  the  red  marble  field;  a  h  the  sec¬ 
tion  of  the  dentil  moulding  lot  into  it;  I  c  the  entire  breadth 
of  the  rayed  zone,  represented  on  the  other  side  of  the  spandril 
by  the  line  C  f;  c  d  is  the  white  marble  band  let  in,  with  the 

*  I  cannot  suffer  this  volume  to  close  without  also  thanking  my  kind 
friend,  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  for  help  given  me  in  a  thousand  ways  during 
my  stay  in  Venice:  but  chiefly  for  his  'direction  to  passages  elucidatory  of 
my  subject  in  the  MSS.  of  St.  ]\Iark’s  library. 


41(5 


APPENDIX,  20. 


dog-tootli  on  the  face  of  it;  J  c  is  7f  inches  across;  c  d  3f ;  and  at 
B  are  given  two  joints  of  the  dentil  (mentioned  above,  in  the 
chapter  on  dentils,  as  unique  in  Venice)  of  their  actual  size.  At 
C  is  given  one  of  the  inlaid  leaves;  its  measure  being  (in  inches) 
C/  7f;  C  f;/^  f;/e  4f,  the  base  of  the  smaller  leaves  being 
of  course  /  e  —fg  =  4.  The  pattern  which  occupies  the  other 
spandril  is  similar,  except  that  the  field  h  c,  instead  of  the  inter¬ 
secting  arcs,  has  only  triangles  of  grey  marble,  arranged  like 
rays,  with  their  bases  towards  the  centre.  There  being  twenty 
round  the  circle,  the  reader  can  of  course  draw  them  for  him¬ 
self;  they  being  isosceles,  touching  the  dentil  with  their  points, 
and  being  in  contact  at  their  bases:  it  has  lost  its  central  boss. 
The  marbles  are,  in  both,  covered  with  a  rusty  coating,  through 
which  it  is  excessively  difficult  to  distinguish  the  colors  (another 
proof  of  the  age  of  the  ornament).  But  the  wdiite  marbles  are 
certainly,  in  places  (except  only  the  sugary  dentil),  veined  with 
purple,  and  the  grey  seem  warmed  with  green. 

A  trace  of  another  of  these  ornaments  may  be  seen  over  the 
21st  capital;  but  I  doubt  if  the  marbles  have  ever  been  inserted 
in  the  other  spandrils,  and  their  want  of  ornament  occasions  the 
slight  meagreness  in  the  effect  of  the  lower  story,  which  is  al¬ 
most  the  only  fault  of  the  building. 

This  decoration  by  discs,  or  shield-like  ornaments,  is  a  mark¬ 
ed  characteristic  of  Venetian  architecture  in  its  earlier  ages,  and 
is  carried  into  later  times  by  the  Byzantine  Renaissance,  already 
distinguished  from  the  more  corrupt  forms  of  Renaissance,  in 
Appendix  6.  Of  the  disc  decoration,  so  borrowed,  we  have  al¬ 
ready  an  example  in  Plate  I.  In  Plate  VII.  we  have  an  earlier 
condition  of  it,  one  of  the  discs  being  there  sculptured,  tlie 
others  surrounded  by  sculptured  bands  :  here  we  have,  on  the 
Ducal  Palace,  tlie  most  characteristic  of  all,  because  likest  to 
the  shield,  which  was  probably  the  origin  of  the  same  ornament 
among  the  Arabs,  and  assuredly  among  the  Greeks.  In  Mr. 
Donaldson’s  restoration  of  the  gate  of  the  treasury  of  Atreus, 
this  ornament  is  con jecturally  employed,  and  it  occurs  constantly 
on  the  Arabian  buildini>-s  of  Cairo. 


APPENDIX,  31 


417 


21.  ANCIENT  REPRESENTATIONS  OF  WATER. 

I  have  long  been  desirous  of  devoting  some  time  to  an  en¬ 
quiry  into  the  effect  of  natural  scenery  upon  the  pagan,  and 
egnecially  the  Greek,  mind,  and  knowing  tliat  my  friend,  Mr.  C. 
\NeAvton,  had  devoted  much  thought  to  the  elucidation  of  the 
figurative  and  symbolic  language  of  ancient  art,  I  asked  him  to 
draw  up  for  me  a  few  notes  of  the  facts  which  he  considered 
most  interesting,  as  illustrative  of  its  methods  of  representing 
nature.  I  suggested  to  him,  for  an  initiative  subject,  the  repre¬ 
sentation  of  water;  because  this  is  one  of  the  natural  objects 
whose  portraiture  may  most  easily  be  made  a  test  of  treatment, 
for  it  is  one  of  universal  interest,  and  of  more  closely  similar 
aspect  in  all  parts  of  the  world  than  any  other.  Waves,  cur¬ 
rents,  and  eddies  are  much  liker  each  other,  everywhere,  than 
either  land  or  vegetation.  Rivers  and  lakes,  indeed,  differ 
widely  from  the  sea,  and  the  clear  Pacific  from  the  angry  North¬ 
ern  ocean;  but  the  Nile  is  liker  the  Danube  than  a  knot  of  Nu¬ 
bian  palms  is  to  a  glade  of  the  Black  Forest;  and  the  Mediterra¬ 
nean  is  liker  the  Atlantic  than  the  Campo  Felice  is  like  Solway 
moss. 

Mr.  Newton  has  accordingly  most  kindly  furnished  me  with 
the  following  data.  One  or  two  of  the  types  which  he  describes 
have  been  already  noticed  in  the  main  text;  but  it  is  well  that 
the  reader  should  again  contemplate  them  in  the  position  which 
they  here  occupy  in  a  general  s3'Stem.  I  recommend  his  special 
attention  to  Mr.  Newton’s  definitions  of  the  terms  “  figurative” 
and  symbolic,”  as  applied  to  art,  in  the  beginning  of  the  jiaper. 


In  ancient  art,  that  is  do  say,  in  the  art  of  the  Egyptian, 
Assyrian,  Greek,  and  Roman  races,  water  is,  for  the  most  part, 
represented  conventionally  rather  than  naturally. 

Bv  natural  representation  is  here  meant  as  just  and  perfect 
an  imitation  of  nature  as  the  technical  means  of  art  will  allow: 
on  the  other  hand,  representation  is  said  to  be  conventional, 
cither  when  a  confessedly  inadequate  imitation  is  accepted  in  de¬ 
fault  of  a  better,  or  when  imitation  is  not  attempted  at  all,  and 


418 


APPENDIX,  21. 


it  is  agreed  that  other  modes  of  representation,  those  by  figures 
or  by  symbols,  shall  be  its  substitute  and  equiyalent. 

In  figurative  representation  there  is  always  impersonation; 
the  sensible  form,  borrowed  by  the  artist  from  organic  life,  is 
conceived  to  be  actuated  by  a  will,  and  invested  with  such  men¬ 
tal  attributes  as  constitute  personality. 

The  sensible  symbol,  whether  borrowed  from  organic  or  from 
inorganic  nature,  is  not  a  personification  at  all,  but  the  convene 
tional  sign  or  equivalent  of  some  object  or  notion,  to  which  it 
may  i)erhaiis  bear  no  visible  resemblance,  but  with  which  the 
intellect  or  the  imagination  has  in  some  way  associated  it. 

For  instance,  a  city  may  be  figuratively  represented  as  a 
woman  croAvned  with  towers  ;  here  the  artist  has  selected  for  the 
expression  of  his  idea  a  human  form  animated  with  a  will  and 
motives  of  action  analogous  to  those  of  humanity  generally.  Or, 
again,  as  in  Greek  art,  a  bull  may  be  a  figurative  representation 
of  a  river,  and,  in  the  conception  of  the  artist,  this  animal  form 
may  contain,  and  be  ennobled  by,  a  human  mind. 

This  is  still  impersonation;  the  form  only  in  Avhich  personality 
is  embodied  is  changed. 

Agam,  a  dolphin  may  he  used  as  a  symbol  of  the  sea;  a  man 
ploughing  with  tAvo  oxen  is  a  AA'ell-knoAvn  symbol  of  a  Eoman 
colony.  In  neither  of  these  instances  is  there  impersonation. 
The  dolphin  is  not  invested,  like  the  figure  of  Neptune,  with 
any  of  the  attributes  of  the  human  mind  ;  it  has  animal  instincts, 
but  no  will  ;  it  represents  to  us  its  native  element,  only  as  a  part 
may  be  taken  for  a  whole. 

Again,  the  man  ploughing  does  not,  like  the  turreted  female 
figure,  inrsonify,  but  rather  typifies  the  toAvn,  standing  as  the 
visible  representation  of  a  real  event,  its  first  foundation.  To 
our  mental  perceptions,  as  to  our  bodily  senses,  this  figure  seems 
no  more  than  man;  there  is  no  blending  of  his  personal  nature 
AAuththe  impersonal  nature  of  the  colony,  no  transfer  of  attributes 
from  the  one  to  the  other. 

Though  the  conventionall3’^  imitative,  the  figurative,  and  the 
s5Tnbolic,  are  three  distinct  kinds  of  representation,  they  are 
constantly  combined  in  one  composition,  as  we  shall  see  in  the 
following  examples,  cited  from  the  art  of  successive  races  in 
cnronological  order. 


APPENDIX,  21. 


419 


Fig.  LXXI. 


In  Egyptian  art  trie  general  representation  of  water  is  the 
conventionally  imitative.  In  the  British  Museum  are  two  fres¬ 
coes  from  tombs  at  Thebes,  Nos.  177  and  170:  the  subject  of  the 
first  of  these  is  an  oblong  pond,  ground-plan  and  elevation  being 
strangely  confused  in  the  design.  In  this  pond  water  is  repre¬ 
sented  by  parallel  zigzag  lines,  in  which  fish  are  swimming  about. 
On  the  surface  are  birds  and  lotos  flowers  ;  the  herbage  at  the 
edge  of  the  pond  is  represented  by  a  border  of  symmetrical  fan¬ 
shaped  flowers ;  the  field  beyond  by  rows  of  trees,  arranged  round 
the  sides  of  the  pond  at  right  angles  to  each  other,  and  in  defiance 
of  all  laws  of  perspective. 

In  the  fresco.  No.  170,  we  have  the  representation  of  a  river 
with  papyrus  on  its  bank.  Here  the  water  is  rendered  by  zigzag 
lines  arranged  vertically  and  in  parallel  lines,  so 
as  to  resemble  herring-bone  masonry,  tlius. 

There  are  fish  in  this  fresco  as  in  the  preceding, 
and  in  both  each  fish  is  drawn  very  distinctly, 
not  as  it  would  appear  to  the  eye  viewed  through 
water.  The  mode  of  representing  this  element 
in  Egyptian  painting  is  furtlier  abbreviated  in  their  hieroglyphic 
writing,  where  the  sign  of  water  is  a  zigzag  line;  this  line  is,  so 
to  speak,  a  picture  of  water  written  in  short  hand.  In  the 
Eg}"]itian  Pantheon  there  was  hut  one  aquatic  deity,  the  god  of 
the  Nile;  his  type  is,  therefore,  the  only  figurative  representation 
of  water  in  Egjqitian  art.  (Birch,  “  Gallery  of  British  Museum 
Antiquities,”  PI.  13.)  In  Assyrian  sculpture  we  have  very  curi¬ 
ous  conventionally  imitative  representations  of  water.  On 
several  of  the  friezes  from  Nimroud  and  Khorsabad,  men  are 
seen  crossing  a  river  in  boats,  or  in  skins,  accompanied  by  horses 
swimming  (see  Layard,  ii.  p.  381).  In  these  scenes  water  is  rep¬ 
resented  by  masses  of  wavy  lines  somewhat  resembling  tresses 
of  hair,  and  terminating  in  curls  or  volutes ;  these  wavy  lines 
express  the  general  character  of  a  deep  and  rapid  current,  like 
that  of  the  Tigris.  Fish  are  but  sparingly  introduced,  the  idea 
of  surface  being  sufficiently  expressed  by  the  floating  figures  and 
boats.  In  the  representation  of  these  there  is  the  same  want  of 
perspective  as  in  the  Egyptian  fresco  which  we  have  just  cited. 

In  the  Assyrian  Pantheon  one  aquatic  deity  has  been  dis¬ 
covered,  the  god  Dagon,  Avhose  human  form  terminates  in  a  fish’s 


420 


APPENDIX,  21. 


tail.  Of  tlie  character  and  attributes  of  this  deity  we  know  but 
little. 

The  more  abbreviated  mode  of  representing  water,  the  zigzag 
line,  occurs  on  the  large  silver  coins  with  the  type  of  a  city  or  a 
Avar  galley  (see  Layard,  ii.  p.  38G).  These  coins  Avere  probably 
struck  in  Assyria,  not  long  after  the  conquest  of  it  by  the  Per¬ 
sians. 

In  Greek  art  the  modes  of  representing  water  are  far  more 
Amried.  Tavo  conventional  imitations,  the  Avave  moulding  and 
the  Mieander,  are  Avell  known.  Both  are  probably  of  the  most 
remote  antiquity;  both  have  been  largely  employed  as  an  archi¬ 
tectural  ornament,  and  snbordinately  as  a  decoration  of  A'ases, 
costume,  furniture  and  implements.  In  the  wave  moulding  Ave 
have  a  conventional  reiiresentation  of  the  small  crisping  Avaves 
Avhich  break  upon  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  sea  of  the 
Greeks. 

Their  regular  succession,  and  equality  of  force  and  volume, 
are  generalised  in  this  moulding,  Avhile  the  minuter  varieties 
Avhich  distinguish  one  Avave  from  another  are  merged  in  the 
general  type.  The  character  of  ocean  waves  is  to  be  ‘‘for  eA'er 
changing,  yet  the  same  for  ever it  is  this  eternity  of  recurrence 
which  the  early  artist  has  expressed  in  this  hieroglyphic. 

With  this  profile  representation  of  Avater  may  be  compared 
the  sculptured  waves  out  of  Avhich  the  head  and  arms  of  Hype¬ 
rion  are  rising  in  the  pediment  of  the  Parthenon  (Elgin  Boom, 
No.  (65)  91,  Museum  Marbles,  au.  pi.  1).  Phidias  has  repre¬ 
sented  these  AvaA'es  like  a  mass  of  overlapping  tiles,  thus  general¬ 
ising  their  rippling  moA'ement.  In  the  Maeander  pattern  the 
graceful  curves  of  nature  are  represented  by  angles,  as  in  the 
Egyptian  hieroglyphic  of  Avater:  so  again  the  earliest  representa¬ 
tion  of  the  labyrinth  on  the  coins  of  the  Cnossus  is  rectangular ; 
on  later  coins  Ave  find  the  curvilinear  form  introduced. 

In  the  language  of  Greek  mythography,  the  AvaA^e  pattern  and 
the  Ma3ander  are  sometimes  used  singly  for  the  idea  of  Avater, 
but  more  frequently  combined  with  figurative  representation. 
The  number  of  aquatic  deities  in  the  Greek  Pantheon  led  to  the 
invention  of  a  great  A^ariety  of  beautiful  types.  Some  of  these 
are  very  Avell  known.  Everybody  is  familiar  with  the  general 
form  of  Poseidon  (Neptune),  the  Nereids,  the  Nymphs  and  RiA'er 


APPENDIX,  21. 


421 


Gods  ;  but  the  modes  in  which  these  types  were  combined  with 
conventional  imitation  and  with  accessory  symbols  deserve  careful 
study,  if  we  would  appreciate  the  surpassing  richness  and  beauty 
of  the  language  of  art  formed  out  of  these  elements. 

T-his  class  of  representations  may  be  divided  into  two  princi¬ 
pal  groups,  those  relating  to  the  sea,  and  those  relating  to  fresh 
Water. 

The  power  of  the  ocean  and  the  great  features  of  marine 
scenery  are  embodied  in  such  types  as  Poseidon,  Nereus  and  the 
Nereids,  that  is  to  say,  in  human  forms  moving  through  the 
liquid  element  in  chariots,  or  on  the  back  of  dolphins,  or  who 
combine  the  human  form  with  that  of  the  fish-like  Tritons.  The 
sea-monsters  who  draw  these  chariots  are  called  Hippocamps,  be¬ 
ing  composed  of  the  tail  of  a  fish  and  the  fore-part  of  a  horse, 
the  legs  terminating  in  web-feet  :  this  union  seems  to  express 
speed  and  power  under  perfect  control,  such  as  Avould  characterise 
the  movements  of  sea  deities.  A  few  examples  have  been  here 
selected  to  show  how  these  types  were  combined  with  symbols 
and  conventional  imitation. 

In  the  British  Museum  is  a  vase.  No.  1257,  engraved  (Lenor- 
mant  et  De  Witte,  Mon.  Ceram,,  i,  pi.  27),  of  which  the  subject 
is,  Europa  crossing  the  sea  on  the  back  of  the  bull.  In  this  design 
the  sea  is  represented  by  a  variety  of  expedients.  First,  the 
swimming  action  of  the  bull  suggests  the  idea  of  the  liquid 
medium  through  which  he  moves.  Behind  him  stands  Nereus, 
his  staff  held  perpendicularly  in  his  hand ;  the  top  of  his  staff 
comes  nearly  to  the  level  of  the  bull’s  back,  and  is  probably 
meant  as  the  measure  of  the  whole  depth  of  the  sea.  Towards 
the  surface  line  thus  indicated  a  dolphin  is  rising ;  in  the  middle 
depth  is  another  dolphin  ;  below  a  shrimp  and  a  cuttle-fish,  and 
the  bottom  is  indicated  by  a  jagged  line  of  rocks,  on  which  are 
two  echini. 

On  a  mosaic  found  at  Oudnah  in  Algeria  (Eevue  Archeol,,  iii. 
pi.  50),  we  have  a  representation  of  the  sea,  remarkable  for  the 
fulness  of  details  with  which  it  is  made  out. 

This,  though  of  the  Roman  period,  is  so  thoroughly  Greek  in 
feeling,  that  it  may  be  cited  as  an  example  of  the  class  of  my- 
thography  now  under  consideration.  The  mosaic  lines  the  floor 
and  sides  of  a  bath,  and,  as  was  commonly  the  case  in  the  baths 


422  APPENDIX,  21. 

of  the  ancients,  serves  as  a  figurative  representation  of  the  water 
it  contained. 

On  the  sides  are  hippocamps,  figures  riding  on  dolphins,  and 
islands  on  which  fishermen  stand ;  on  the  floor  are  fish,  crabs, 
and  shrimps. 

These,  as  in  the  vase  with  Europa,  indicate  the  bottom  of  the 
sea  :  the  same  symbols  of  the  submarine  world  appear  on  many 
other  ancient  designs.  Thus  in  vase  pictures,  when  Poseidon 
upheaves  the  island^  of  Cos  to  overwhelm  the  Giant  Polydotes, 
the  island  is  represented  as  an  immense  mass  of  rock  ;  the  parts 
which  have  been  under  water  are  indicated  by  a  dolphin,  a 
shrimp,  arid  a  sepia,  the  parts  above  the  water  by  a  goat  and  a 
serpent  (Lenormant  et  De  Witte,  i.,  tav.  5), 

Sometimes  these  symbols  occur  singly  in  Greek  art,  as  the 
types,  for  instance,  of  coins.  In  such  cases  they  cannot  be  in¬ 
terpreted  without  being  viewed  in  relation  to  the  whole  context 
of  mythography  to  which  they  belong.  If  we  find,  for  example, 
on  one  coin  of  Tarentum  a  shell,  on  another  a  dolphin,  on  a 
third  a  figure  of  Tarus,  the  mythic  founder  of  the  town,  riding 
on  a  dolphin  in  the  midst  of  the  waves,  and  this  latter  group 
expresses  the  idea  of  the  town  itself  and  its  position  on  the 
coast,  then  we  know  the  two  former  types  to  be  but  portions  of 
the  greater  design,  having  been  detached  from  it,  as  we  may  de¬ 
tach  words  from  sentences. 

The  study  of  the  fuller  and  clearer  examples,  such  as  we  have 
cited  above,  enables  us  to  explain  many  more  compendious  forms 
of  expression.  We  have,  for  instance,  on  coins  several  represen¬ 
tations  of  ancient  harbors. 

Of  these,  tlie  earliest  occurs  on  the  coins  of  Zancle,  the  modern 
Messina  in  Sicily.  The  ancients  likened  the  form  of  this  harbor 
to  a  sickle,  and  on  the  coins  of  the  town  we  find  a  curved  object, 
within  the  area  of  whmh  is  a  dolphin.  On  this  curve  are  four 
square  elevations  placed  at  equal  distances.  It  has  been  conjec¬ 
tured  that  these  projections  are  either  towers  or  the  large  stones 
to  which  galleys  were  moored  still  to  bo  seen  in  ancient  harbors 
(see  Burgon,  Numismatic  Chronicle,  iii.  p.  40).  With  this 
archaic  representation  of  a  harbor  may  be  compared  some  exam¬ 
ples  of  the  Roman  period.  On  a  coin  of  Sept.  Severus  struck  at 
Corinth  (Millingen,  Sylloge  of  lined.  Coins,  1837,  p.  57,  PI.  IL 


APPENDIX,  21. 


423 


No.  30)  we  have  a  female  figure  standing  on  a  rock  between  two 
recumbent  male  figures  holding  rudders.  From  an  arch  at  the 
.  foot  of  the  rock  a  stream  is  flowing  :  this  is  a  representation  cf 
the  rock  of  the  Acropolis  of  Corinth;  the  female  figure  is  a 
statue  of  Aphrodite,  whose  temple  surmounted  the  rock.  The 
stream  is  the  fountain  Pirene.  The  two  recumbent  figures  are 
impersonations  of  the  two  harbors,  Lechreum  and  Cenchreia, 
between  which  Corinth  was  situated.  Philostratus  (Icon,  ii.,  c. 
16)  describes  a  similar  picture  of  the  Isthmus  between  the  two 
harbors,  one  of  which  was  in  the  form  of  a  youth,  the  other  of 
a  nymph. 

On  another  coin  of  Corinth  we  have  one  of  the  harbors  in  a 
semicircular  form,  the  whole  arc  being  marked  with  small  equal 
divisions,  to  denote  the  archways  under  which  the  ancient  gal¬ 
leys  were  drawn,  subductee;  at  the  either  horn  or  extremity  of 
tlie  harbor  is  a  temple  ;  in  the  centre  of  the  mouth,  a  statue  of 
Neptune.  (Millingen,  Medailles  Ined.,  PI.  II.,  No.  19.  Com¬ 
pare  also  Milligen,  Ancient  Coins  of  Cities  and  Kings,  1831,  pp. 
50 — 61,  PI.  lY.,  No.  15;  Mionnet,  Suppl.  vii.  p.  79,  No.  246; 
and  the  harbor  of  Ostium,  on  the  large  brass  coins  of  Nero,  in 
which  there  is  a  representation  of  the  Homan  fleet  and  a  reclin¬ 
ing  figure  of  Neptune. ) 

In  vase  pictures  we  have  occasionally  an  attempt  to  represent 
water  naturally.  On  a  vase  in  the  British  Museum  (No.  785), 
of  which  the  subject  is  Ulysses  and  the  Sirens,  the  Sea  is  ren-  . 
dered  by  wavy  lines  drawn  in  black  on  a  red  ground,  and  some¬ 
thing  like  the  effect  of  light  playing  on  the  surface  of  the  water 
is  given.  On  each  side  of  the  ship  are  shapeless  masses  of  rock 
on  which  the  Sirens  stand. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  figurative  representations  of 
the  sea  is  the  well-known  type  of  Scylla.  She  has  a  beautiful 
body,  terminating  in  twa  barking  dogs  and  two  serpent  tails. 
Sometimes  drowning  men,  tlie  rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto,  ap¬ 
pear  caught  up  in  the  coils  of  these  tails.  Below  are  dolphins. 
Scylla  generally  brandishes  a  rudder  to  show  the  manner  in 
which  she  twists  the  course  of  ships.  For  varieties  of  her  type 
see  Monum.  dell’  Inst.  Archeol,  Eom,,  iii.  Taw.  52 — 3. 

The  representations  of  fresh  water  may  be  arranged  under  the 
following  heads — rivers,  lakes,  fountains. 


424 


APPENDIX,  21. 


There  are  several  figurative  modes  of  representing  rivers  very 
frequently  employed  in  ancient  mythography. 

In  the  type  which  occurs  earliest  we  have  the  human  form 
combined  with  that  of  the  bull  in  several  ways.  On  an  archaic 
coin  of  ]\[etapontum  in  Lucania,  (see  frontispiece  to  Millingen, 
Ancient  Coins  of  Greek  Cities  and  Kings,)  the  river  Aehelous  is 
represented  with  the  figure  of  a  man  with  a  shaggy  beard  and 
bull’s  horns  and  ears.  On  a  vase  of  the  best  period  of  Greek 
art  (Brit.  Mus.  No.  789  ;  Birch,  Trans.  Eoy.  Soc.  of  Lit.,  New 
Series,  Loud.  1843,  i.  p.  100)  the  same  river  is  represented  with 
a  satyr’s  head^  and  long  bull’s  horns  on  the  forehead  ;  his  form, 
human  to  the  waist,  terminates  in  a  fish’s  tail ;  his  hair  falls  down 
his  back  ;  his  beard  is  long  and  shaggy.  In  this  type  we  see  a 
combination  of  the  three  forms  separately  enumerated  by  Sopho¬ 
cles,  in  the  commencement  of  the  Trachiniee. 

o?  iy  rpidiv  /uopqiccidiv  narpo^y 

q)oiT(Sv  kvapyrfi  avpoi  aWor^  aioXo'^y 
dpdxGov  eXiHToi,  aXXov^  dydpEKp  nvrsi 
ftovTtpcppoZ,  EK  Si  SccdHiov  yeveidSoi 
xpovvoi  SiEppcxiv ovro  npvvaiov  norov. 

In  a  third  variety  of  this  type  the  human-headed  body  is 
united  at  the  waist  with  the  shoulders  of  a  bull’s  body,  in  which 
•  it  terminate^.  This  occurs  on  an  early  vase.  (Brit.  Mus.,  No. 
452.)  On  the  coins  of  CEniadae  in  Acarnia,  and  on  those  of  Am- 
bracia,  all  of  the  period  after  Alexander  the  Great,  the  Aehelous 
has  a  bull’s  body,  and  head  with  a  human  face.  In  this  variety 
of  the  type  the  human  element  is  almost  absorbed,  as  in  the  first 
variety  cited  above,  the  coin  of  Metapontum,  the  bull  portion  of 
the  ty}>e  is  only  indicated  by  the  addition  of  the  horns  and  ears 
to  the  human  head.  On  the  analogy  between  these  varieties  in 
the  type  of  the  Aehelous  and  those  under  which  the  metamor¬ 
phoses  of  the  marine  goddess  Thetis  are  represented,  see 
Gerhard,  Auserl  Vasenb.  ii.  pp.  106 — 113.  It  is  probable  that, 
in  the  type  of  Thetis,  of  Proteus,  and  also  of  the  Aehelous,  the 
singular  combinations  and  transformations  are  intended  to  ex- 
jiress  the  changeful  nature  of  the  element  water. 

Numerous  other  examples  may  be  cited,  where  rivers  are 


APPEISTDIX,  21. 


425 


represented  by  this  combination  of  the  bull  and  human  form, 
which  may  be  called,  for  conyenience,  the  Androtauric  type.  On 
the  coins  of  Sicily,  of  the  archaic  and  also  of  the  finest  period 
of  art,  rivers  are  most  usually  represented  by  a  youthful  male 
figure,  with  small  budding  horns;  the  hair  has  the  lank  and 
matted  form  which  characterises  aquatic  deities  in  Greek  my- 
thography.  The  name  of  the  river  is  often  inscribed  round  the 
head.  When  the  whole  figure  occurs  on  the  coin,  it  is  always 
represented  standing,  never  reclining. 

The  type  of  the  bull  on  the  coins  of  Sybaris  and  Thurium, 
in  Magna  Graecia,  has  been  considered,  with  great  probability, 
a  representation  of  this  kind.  On  the  coins  of  Sybaris,  which 
are  of  a  very  early  period,  the  head  of  the  bull  is  turned  round; 
on  those  of  Thurium,  he  stoops  his  head,  butting  :  the  first  of 
these  actions  has  been  thought  to  symbolise  the  winding  course 
of  the  river,  the  second,  its  headlong  current.  On  the  coins  of 
Thurium,  tlie  idea  of  water  is  further  suggested  by  the  adjunct 
of  dolphins  and  other  fish  in  the  exergue  of  the  coin.  The 
ground  on  which  the  bull  stands  is  indicated  by  herbage  or  peb¬ 
bles.  This  probably  represents  the  river  bank.  Two  bulls’  head 
occur  on  the  coins  of  Sardis,  and  it  has  been  ingeniously  conjec¬ 
tured  by  Mr.  Burgon  that  the  two  rivers  of  the  place  are  ex¬ 
pressed  under  this  type. 

The  representation  of  river-gods  as  human  figures  in  a  reclin¬ 
ing  position,  though  probably  not  so  much  employed  in  earlier 
Greek  art  as  the  Androtauric  type,  is  very  much  more  familiar 
to  us,  from  its  subsequent  adoption  in  Roman  mythography. 
The  earliest  example  we  have  of  a  reclining  river-god  is  in  the 
figure  in  the  Elgin  Room  commonly  called  the  Ilissus,  but  more 
probably  the  Cephissus.  This  occupied  one  angle  in  the  western 
pediment  of  the  Parthenon  ;  the  other  Athenian  river,  the 
^illissus,  and  the  fountain  Callirrhoe  being  represented  by  a  male 
and  female  figure  in  the  opposite  angle  ;  this  gi’oup,  now  de¬ 
stroyed,  is  visible  in  the  drawing  made  by  Carrey  in  1678. 

It  is  probable  that  the  necessities  of  pedimental  composition 
first  led  the  artist  to  place  the  river-god  in  a  reclining  position. 
The  head  of  the  Ilissus  being  oroken  off,  we  are  not  sure  whether 
he  had  bull’s  horns,  like  the  Sicilian  figures  already  described. 
Ilis  form  is  youthful,  in  the  folds  of  the  draj)ery  behind  him 


426 


APPENDIX,  21. 


there  is  a  flow  like  that  of  waves,  but  the  idea  of  water  is  not 
suggested  by  any  other  symbol.  When  w^e  compare  this  figure 
with  that  of  the  Nile  (Visconti,  Mus.  Pio  Clem.,  i.,  PI.  38),  and 
the  figure  of  the  Tiber  in  the  Louvre,  both  of  which  are  of  the 
Roman  period,  we  see  how  in  these  later  types  the  artist  multi¬ 
plied  symbols  and  accessories,  ingrafting  them  on  the  original 
simple  type  of  the  river-god,  as  it  was  conceived  by  Phidias  in 
the  figure  of  the  Ilissus.  The  Nile  is  represented  as  a  colossal 
bearded  figure  reclining.  At  his  side  is  a  cornucopia,  full  of  the 
vegetable  produce  of  the  Egyptian  soil.  Round  his  body  are 
sixteen  naked  boys,  who  represent  the  sixteen  cubits,  the  height 
to  which  the  river  rose  in  a  favorable  year.  The  statue  is 
placed  on  a  basement  divided  into  three  compartments,  one  above 
another.  In  the  uj^permost  of  these,  waves  are  flowing  over  in 
one  great  sheet  from  the  side  of  the  river-god.  In  the  other  two 
compartments  are  the  animals  and  plants  of  the  river  ;  the  bas- 
reliefs  on  this  basement  are,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  abbreviated  sym¬ 
bolic  panorama  of  the  Nile. 

The  Tiber  is  represented  in  a  very  similar  manner.  On  the 
base  are,  in  two  compartments,  scenes  taken  from  the  early 
Roman  myths  ;  flocks,  herds,  and  other  objects  on  the  banks  of 
the  river.  (Visconti,  Mus.  P.  Cl.  i.,  PL  39;  Millin,  Galerie  My- 
thol.,  i.  p.  77,  PI.  74,  Nos.  304,  308.) 

In  the  types  of  the  Greek  coins  of  Camarina,  we  find  two  in¬ 
teresting  representations  of  Lakes.  On  the  obverse  of  one  of  these 
we  have,  within  a  circle  of  the  wave  pattern,  a  male  head,  full 
face,  with  dishevelled  hair,  and  with  a  dolphin  on  either  side  ;  on 
the  reverse  a  female  figure  sailing  on  a  swan,  below  which  a  wave 
moulding,  and  above,  a  dolphin. 

On  another  coin  the  swan  type  of  the  reverse  is  associated  with 
the  youthful  head  of  a  river-god,  inscribed  “  Hipparis  ”  on  the 
obverse.  On  some  smaller  coins  we  have  the  swan  flying  over 
the  rip])ling  waves,  which  are  represented  by  the  wave  moulding. 
When  we  examine  the  chart  of  Sicily,  made  by  the  Admiralty 
survey,  we  find  marked  down  at  Camarina,  a  lake  through  which 
the  river  Hipparis  flows. 

We  can  hardly  doubt  that  the  inhabitants  of  Camarina  repre¬ 
sented  both  their  river  and  their  lakes  on  their  coins.  The  swan 
flying  over  the  waves  would  represent  a  lake;  the  figure  associated 


APPENDIX,  21. 


427 


with  it  being  no  doubt  the  Aphrodite  worshipped  at  that  place : 
the  head,  in  a  circle  of  wave  pattern,  may  express  that  part  of 
the  river  which  flows  through  the  lake. 

Fountains  are  usually  represented  by  a  stream  of  water  issu¬ 
ing  from  a  lion’s  head  in  the  rock:  see  a  vase  (Gerhard,  Auserl. 
Vasenb.,  taf.  cxxxiv.),  where  Hercules  stands,  receiving  a 
shower-bath  from  a  hot  spring  at  Thermae  in  Sicily.  On  the 
coins  of  Syracuse  the  fountain  Arethusa  is  represented  by  a 
female  head  seen  to  the'  front;  the  flowing  lines  of  her  dishevelled 
hair  suggest,  though  they  do  not  directly  imitate,  the  bubbling 
action  of  the  fresh-water  spring;  the  sea  in  which  it  rises  is 
symbolized  by  the  dolphins  round  the  head.  This  type  presents 
a  striking  analogy  with  that  of  the  Camarina  head  in  the  circle 
of  wave  pattern  described  above. 

These  are  the  principal  modes  of  representing  w^ater  in  Greek 
mythography.  In  the  art  of  Llie  Roman  period,  the  same  kind 
of  figurative  and  symbolic  language  is  employed,  but  there  is  a 
constant  tendency  to  multiply  accessories  and  details,  as  we  have 
shown  in  the  later  representations  of  harbors  and  river-gods  cited 
above.  In  these  crowded  compositions  the  eye  is  fatigued  and 
distracted  by  the  quantity  it  has  to  examine;  the  language  of  art 
becomes  more  copious  but  less  terse  and  emphatic,  and  addresses 
itself  to  minds  far  less  intelligent  than  the  refined  critics  who 
were  the  contemporaries  of  Phidias. 

Rivers  in  Roman  art  are  usually  represented  by  reclining 
male  figures,  generally  bearded,  holding  reeds  or  other  plants  in 
their  hands,  and  leaning  on  urns  from  which  water  is  flowing. 
On  the  coins  of  many  Syrian  cities,  struck  in  imperial  times,  the 
city  is  represented  by  a  turreted  female  figure  seated  on  rocks, 
and  resting  her  feet  on  the  shoulder  of  a  youthful  male  figure, 
who  looks  up  in  her  face,  stretching  out  his  arms,  and  who  is 
sunk  in  the  ground  as  high  as  the  waist.  See  Miiller  (Denkniiiler 
d.  A.  Kunst,  i.,  taf.  49,  No.  220)  for  a  group  of  this  kind  in 
the  Vatican,  and  several  similar  designs  on  coins. 

On  the  column  of  Trajan  there  occur  many  rude  representa¬ 
tions  of  the  Danube,  and  other  rivers  crossed  by  the  Romans  in 
their  military  expeditions.  The  water  is  imitated  by  sculptured 
wavy  lines,  in  which  boats  are  placed.  In  one  scene  (Bartoli, 
Colonna  Trajana,  Tav.  4)  this  rude  conventional  imitation  is 


428 


APPENDIX,  21 


combined  with  a  figure.  In  a  recess  in  the  river  bank  is  a  reclin¬ 
ing  river-god,  terminating  at  the  waist.  This  is  either  meant 
for  a  statue  which  was  really  placed  on  the  bank  of  the  river, 
and  which  therefore  marks  some  particular  locality,  or  we  have 
here  figurative  representation  blended  with  conventional  imita¬ 
tion. 

On  the  column  of  Antoninus  (Bartoli,  Colon.  Anton.,  Tav. 
15)  a  storm  of  rain  is  represented  by  the  head  of  J upiter  Pluvius, 
who  has  a  vast  outspread  beard  fiowing  in  long  tresses.  In  the 
Townley  collection,  in  the  British  Museum,  is  a  Eoman  helmet 
found  at  Ribchester  in  Lancashire,  with  a  mask  or  vizor  attached. 
The  helmet  is  richly  embossed  with  figures  in  a  battle  scene; 
round  the  brow  is  a  row  of  turrets;  the  hair  in  the  forehead  is  so 
treated  as  to  give  the  idea  of  waves  washing  the  base  of  the 
turrets.  This  head  is  perhaps  a  figurative  representation  of  a 
town  girt  with  fortifications  and  a  moat,  near  which  some  great 
battle  was  fought.  It  is  engraved  (Vetusta  Monum.  of  Soc.  Ant. 
London,  iv.,  PI.  1-4). 

In  the  Galeria  at  Florence  is  a  group  in  alto  relievo  (Gori, 
Inscript.  Ant.  Flor.  1727,  p.  76,  Tab.  14)  of  three  female 
figures,  one  of  Avhom  is  certainly  Demeter  Kourotrophos,  or  the 
earth;  another,  Thetis,  or  the  sea;  the  centre  of  the  three  seems 
to  represent  Aphrodite  associated,  as  on  the  coins  of  Camarina, 
with  the  element  of  fresh  water. 

This  figure  is  seated  on  a  swan,  and  holds  over  her  head  an 
arched  veil.  Her  hair  is  bound  with  reeds;  above  her  veil  grows 
a  tall  water  plant,  and  below  the  swan  other  water  plants,  and  a 
stork  seated  on  a  hydria,  or  pitcher,  from  -which  water  is  fiowing. 
Tlie  swan,  the  stork,  the  water  plants,  and  the  hydria  must  all 
be  regarded  as  symbols  of  fresh  water,  the  latter  emblem  being 
introduced  to  show  that  the  element  is  fit  for  the  use  of  man. 

Fountains  in  Roman  art  are  generally  personified  as  figures 
of  nymphs  reclining  with  urns,  or  standing  holding  before  them 
a  large  shell. 

One  of  the  latest  representations  of  water  in  ancient  art  is 
the  mosaic  of  Palestrina  (Barthelemy,  in  Bartoli,  Point.  An¬ 
tiques)  which  may  be  described  as  a  kind  of  rude  panorama  of 
some  district  of  Upper  Egypt,  a  bird’s-eye  view,  half  man,  half 
picture,  in  which  the  details  are  neither  adjusted  to  a  scale,  nor 


APPENDIX^  22,  23. 


429 


drawn  according  to  perspective,  but  crowded  together,  as  they 
would  be  in  an  ancient  bas-relief. 

22.  ARABIAN  ORNAMENTATION. 

I  do  not  mean  Avhat  I  have  here  said  of  the  Inventive  power 
of  the  Arab  to  be  understood  as  in  the  least  applying  to  the  de¬ 
testable  ornamentation  of  the  Alhambra.  *  The  Alhambra  is  no 
more  characteristic  of  Arab  work,  than  Milan  Cathedral  is  of 
Gothic:  it  is  a  late  building,  a  work  of  the  Spanish  dynasty  in 
its  last  decline,  and  its  ornamentation  is  fit  for  nothing  but  to 
be  transferred  to  patterns  of  carpets  or  bindings  of  books,  to¬ 
gether  Avith  their  marbling,  and  mottling,  and  other  mechanical 
recommendations.  The  Alhambra  ornament  has  of  late  been 
largely  used  in  shop-fronts,  to  the  no  small  detriment  of  Regent 
Street  and  Oxford  Street. 

23.  VARIETIES  OF  CHAMFER. 

Let  BAG,  Fig.  LXXII.,  be  the  original  angle  of  the  wall. 
Inscribe  wuthin  it  a  circle,  p  Q  lai  p,  of  the  size  of  the  bead 
recpiired,  touching  A  B,  A  0,  in  p,  p;  Join  p,  p,  and  draAV  B  0 
parallel  to  it,  touching  the  circle. 

Then  the  lines  B  C,  jo  jt?  are  the  limits  of  the  possible  cham¬ 
fers  constructed  with  curves  struck  either  from  centre  A,  as  the 
line  Q  (7,  X  d,  r  u,  g  c,  &c.,  or  from  any  other  point  chosen  as  a  . 
centre  in  the  direction  Q  A  produced:  and  also  of  all  chamfers 
in  straight  lines,  sls  a  b,  e  f.  There  are,  of  course,  an  infinite 
number  of  chamfers  to  be  struck  between  B  C  and  p  p,  from 
every  point  in  Q  A  produced  to  infinity;  thus  we  have  infinity 
multiplied  into  infinity  to  express  the  number  of  possible  cham¬ 
fers  of  this  species,  Avhich  are  peculiarly  Italian  chamfers  ;  to¬ 
gether  Avitli  another  singly  infinite  group  of  the  straight  cham¬ 
fers,  a  h,  e  f,  &c.,  of  Avhich  the  one  formed  by  the  line  a  h, 
passing  through  the  centre  of  the  circle,  is  the  universal  early 
Gothic  chamfer  of  Venice. 

*  I  have  not  seen  the  building  itself,  but  Mr.  Owen  Jones’s  work  may, 

I  suppose,  be  considered  as  sufficiently  representing  it  for  all  purposes  of 
criticism. 


430 


APPENDIX,  23. 


Again.  Either  on  the  line  A  C,  or  on  any  other  lines  A  Z  or 
A  m,  radiating  from  A,  any  number  of  centres  may  be  taken, 
from  which,  with  any  radii  not  greater  than  the  distance  be¬ 
tween  such  points  and  Q,  an  infinite  number  of  curves  may  be 
struck,  such  as  t  ii,  r  s,  n  (all  which  are  here  struck  from 
centres  on  the  line  A  C).  These  lines  represent  the  gi’eat  class 
of  the  northern  chamfers,  of  which  the  number  is  infinity 
raised  to  its  fourth  power,  but  of  which  the  curve  N  n  (for 
northern)  represents  the  average  condition  ;  the  shallower  cham^ 


Fig.  Lxxn. 


fers  of  the  same  group,  r  s,  t  u,  &c.,  occurring  often  in  Italy. 
The  lines  r  u,  t  u,  and  a  b  may  be  taken  approximating  to  the 
most  frequent  conditions  of  the  southern  chamfer. 

It  is  evident  that  the  chords  of  any  of  these  curves  will  give 
a  relative  group  of  rectilinear  chamfers,  occurring  both  in  the 
North  and  South  ;  but  the  rectilinear  chamfers,  I  think,  invari¬ 
ably  fall  within  the  line  Q  C,  and  are  either  parallel  with  it,  or 
inclined  to  A  C  at  an  angle  greater  than  A  C  Q,  and  often  ))cr- 


APPENDIX,  24. 


431 


pendicular  to  it ;  but  never  inclined  to  it  at  an  angle  less  than 
A  C  Q. 


24.  EENAISSANCE  BASES. 

The  following  extract  from  my  note-book  refers  also  to  some 
features  of  late  decoration  of  shafts. 

“  The  Scuola  di  San  Rocco  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
examples  of  Renaissance  work  in  Venice.  Its  fluted  pillars  are 
surrounded  each  by  a  wreath,  one  of  vine,  another  of  laurel, 
another  of  oak,  not  indeed  arranged  with  the  fantasticism  of 
early  Gothic  ;  but,  especially  the  laurel,  reminding  one  strongly 
of  the  laurel  sprays,  powerful  as  well  as  beautiful,  of  Veronese 
and  Tintoret.  Their  stems  are  curiously  and  richly  interlaced 
— the  last  vestige  of  the  Byzantine  wreathed  work — and  the 
vine-leaves  are  ribbed  on  the  surfaces,  I  think,  nearly  as  finely  as 
those  of  the  Noah,*  though  more  injured  by  time.  The  capitals 
are  far  the  ribhest  Renaissance  in  Venice,  less  corrupt  and  more 
masculine  in  plan,  than  any  other,  and  truly  suggestive  of  sup- 
j)ort,  though  of  course  showing  the  tendency  to  error  in  this 
respect ;  and  finally,  at  the  angles  of  the  pure  Attic  bases,  on 
the  square  plinth,  are  set  couchant  animals ;  one,  an  elephant 
four  inches  high,  very  curiously  and  cleverly  cut,  and  all  these 
details  worked  with  a  spirit,  finish,  fancy,  and  affection  quite 
worthy  of  the  middle  ages.  But  they  have  all  the  marked  fault 
of  being  utterly  detached  from  the  architecture.  The  wreaths 
round  the  columns  look  as  if  they  would  drop  off  the  next 
moment,  and  the  animals  at  the  bases  produce  exactly  the  effect 
of  mice  who  had  got  there  by  accident:  one  feels  them  ridicu¬ 
lously  diminutive,  and  utterly  useless.” 

The  effect  of  diminutiveness  is,  I  think,  chiefly  owing  to 
there  being  no  other  groups  of  figures  near  them,  to  accustom 
the  eye  to  the  proportion,  and  to  the  needless  choice  of  the  * 
largest  animals,  elephants,  bears,  and  lions,  to  occupy  a  position 
so  completely  insignificant,  and  to  be  expressed  on  so  contempti¬ 
ble  a  scale, — not  in  a  bas-relief  or  pictorial  piece  of  sculpture, 
but  as  independent  figures.  The  whole  building  is  a*  most 

*  The  sculpture  of  the  Drunkenness  of  Noah  on  the  Ducal  Palace,  of 
which  we  shall  have  much  to  say  hereafter. 


482 


APPENDIX,  25. 


curious  illustration  of  the  appointed  fate  of  the  Eenaissance 
architects, — to  caricature  whateyer  they  imitated,  and  misapply 
whatever  they  learned. 

25.  EOMANIST  DECORATION  OF  BASES. 

I  have  spoken  above  (Ajipendix  12)  of  the  way  in  which  the 
Eoman  Catholic  priests  everywhere  suffer  their  churches  to  be 
desecrated.  But  the  worst  instances  I  ever  saw  of  sacrilege  and 
bruLality,  daily  jiermitted  in  the  face  of  all  men,  were  the  uses 
to  which  the  noble  base  of  St.  Mark’s  was  put,  when  I  was  last 
in  Venice.  Portions  of  nearly  all  cathedrals  may  be  found 
abandoned  to  neglect;  but  this  base  of  St.  Mark’s  is  in  no 
obscure  position.  Full  fronting  the  western  sun — crossing  the 
whole  breadth  of  St.  Mark’s  Place— the  termination  of  the  most 
noble  square  in  the  world — the  centre  of  the  most  noble  city — 
its  purple  marbles  were,  in  the  winter  of  1849,  the  customary 
gambling  tables  of  the  idle  children  of  Venice;  and  the  parts 
which  flank  the  Great  Entrance,  that  very  entrance  where 
“  Barbarossa  flung  his  mantle  off,”  were  the  counters  of  a  com¬ 
mon  bazaar  for  children’s  toys,  carts,  dolls,  and  small  pewter 
spoons  and  dishes,  German  caricatures  and  books  of  the  Opera, 
mixed  with  those  of  the  offices  of  religion;  the  caricatures  being 
fastened  with  twine  round  the  porphyry  shafts  of  the  church. 
One  Sunday,  the  24th  of  February,  1850,  the  book-stall  being 
somewhat  more  richly  laid  out  than  usual,  I  noted  down  the 
titles  of  a  few  of  the  books  in  the  order  in  which  they  lay,  and  I 
give  them  below.  The  irony  conveyed  by  the  juxtaposition  of 
the  three  in  Italics  appears  too  shrewd  to  be  accidental;  but  the 
fact  was  actually  so. 

Along  the  edge  of  the  white  plinth  were  a  row  of  two  kinds 
of  books, 

Officium  Beatae  Virg.  M. ;  and  Officium  Hebdomadte 
sanctse,  juxta  Formam  Missalis  et  Breviarii  Romani 
sub  Urbano  VIII.  correcti. 

Behind  these  lay,  side  by  side,  the  following: 

Don  Desiderio.  Dramma  Giocoso  per  Musica. 

Breve  Esposizione  della  Carattere  di  vera  Religione. 

On  the  top  of  this  latter,  keeping  its  leaves  open. 


I 


APPENDIX,  25. 


483 


La  Figlia  del  Reggimeiito.  Melodramma  comica. 

Carteggio  di  Madarna  la  Marchesa  di  Pompadour y  ossia 
raccolta  di  Lettere  scritte  della  Medesima. 

Istruzioni  di  morale  Condotta  per  le  Figlie. 

Francesca  di  Rimini.  Dramma  per  Musica. 

Then,  a  little  farther  on,  after  a  mass  of  plays: — 

Orazioni  a  Gesu  Nazareno  e  a  Maria  addolorata. 

Scmiramide;  Melodramma  tragico  da  rappresentarsi  nel 
Gran  Teatro  il  Fenice. 

Modo  di  orare  per  I’Acqnisto  del  S.  Giubileo,  conceduto 
a  tutto  il  Mondo  Cattolico  da  S.  S.  Gregorio  XVI. 

Le  due  illustre  Eivali,  Melodramma  in  Tre  Atti,  da  rap- 
present  arsi  nel  nuovo  Gran  Teatro  il  Fenice. 

Il  Cristiano  secondo  il  Cuore  di  Gesu,  per  la  Pratica  delle 
sue  Virtu. 

Traduzione  del’  Idioma  Italiana. 

La  chiava  Chinese;  Commedia  del  Sig.  Abate  Pietro 
Cliiari. 

La  Pelarina;  Intermezzo  de  Tre  Parti  per  Musica. 

Il  Cavaliero  e  la  Dama;  Commedia  in  Tre  Atti  in  Prosa. 

I  leave  these  facts  without  comment.  But  this  being  the 
last  piece  of  Anpendix  I  have  to  add  to  the  present  volume,  I 
would  desire  to  close  its  pages  with  a  question  to  my  readers — 
a  statistical  question,  which,  I  doubt  not,  is  being  accurately 
determined  for  us  all  elsewhere,  and  which,  therefore,  it  seems 
to  me,  our  time  would  not  be  wasted  in  determining  for  our¬ 
selves. 

There  has  now  been  jieace  between  England  and  the  conti¬ 
nental  powers  about  thirty-five  years,  and  during  that  period  the 
English  have  visited  the  continent  at  the  rate  of  many  thousands 
a  year,  staying  there,  I  suppose,  on  the  average,  each  two  or 
three  months;  nor  these  an  inferior  kind  of  English,  but  tne 
kind  which  ought  to  be  the  best — the  noblest  born,  the  best 
taught,  the  richest  in  time  and  money,  having  more  leisure, 
knowledge,  and  power  than  any  other  portion  of  the  nation. 
These,  we  might  suppose,  beholding,  as  they  travelled,  the  con¬ 
dition  of  the  states  in  which  the  Papal  religion  is  professed,  and 
being,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  enlightened  section  of  a  great 
Protestant  nation,  would  have  been  animated  with  some  desire 


434 


APPENDIX,  25. 


to  dissipate  the  Romanist  errors,  and  to  communicate  to  otlieib 
the  better  knowledge  which  they  possessed  themselves.  I  doubt 
not  but  that  He  who  gave  peace  upon  the  earth,  and  gave  it  by 
the  hand  of  England,  expected  this  much  of  her,  and  has 
watched  every  one  of  the  millions  of  her  travellers  as  they  crossed 
the  sea,  and  kept  count  for  him  of  his  travelling  expenses,  and 
of  their  distribution,  in  a  manner  of  which  neither  the  traveller 
nor  his  courier  were  at  all  informed.  I  doubt  not,  I  say,  but 
that  such  accounts  have  been  literally  kept  for  all  of  us,  and 
that  a  day  will  come  Avhen  they  will  be  made  clearly  legible  to 
us,  and  when  we  shall  see  added  together,  on  one  side  of  the 
account  book,  a  great  sum,  the  certain  portion,  whatever  it  may 
be,  of  this  thirty-five  years’  spendings  of  the  rich  English, 
accounted  for  in  this  manner: — 

To  wooden  spoons,  nut-crackers,  and  jewellery,  bought  at 
Geneva,  and  elsewhere  among  the  Alps,  so  much;  to  shell 
cameos  and  bits  of  mosaic  bought  at  Rome,  so  much;  to  coral 
horns  and  lava  brooches  bought  at  Naples,  so  much;  to  glass 
beads  at  Venice,  and  gold  filigree  at  Genoa,  so  much;  to  pictures, 
aud  statues,  and  ornaments,  everywhere,  so  much;  to  avant- 
couriers  and  extra  post-horses,  for  show  and  magnificence,  so 
much;  to  great  entertainments  and  good  places  for  seeing  sights, 
so  much;  to  ball-dresses  and  general  vanities,  so  much.  This,  1 
say,  will  be  the  sum  on  one  side  of  the  book;  and  on  the  other 
will  be  written, 

To  the  struggling  Protestant  Churches  of  France,  Switzer¬ 
land,  and  Piedmont,  so  much. 

Had  we  not  better  do  this  piece  of  statistics  for  ourselves,  in 


•'  ^  ’'4*^  *' 

-'■’V 


